


An Approximation to Perfection

by TooSel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Blindfolds, Body Worship, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Darkness, Fluff, Food Sex, Insecure Sherlock, M/M, Miscommunication, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Roleplay, Smut, Top John Watson, sensory stimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9371087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooSel/pseuds/TooSel
Summary: Sherlock realises just how good the sex John had with his last girlfriend was. The solution is simple: he's going to do everything in his power to ensure that their own sex life stays interesting.Only that it's never quite that easy.





	

The sound of John's heartbeat is loud against his ear. Sherlock's head rests on John's chest, his arms tightly wrapped around him as he listens intently. John is holding him close in return, rubbing soft circles onto his back. His scent fills Sherlock's nose with every breath. It's almost enough to make him dizzy. He inhales deeply the entire time, a small part of his brain convinced that he can absorb John into his own body that way.

The rhythmic sound of his heart beating behind his ribs is as calming as it is exhilarating. Just three weeks ago, Sherlock was _so_ sure that this wasn't a possibility. Never even considered it. John, with his long string of girlfriends and the last in that line, the one he stayed with for three months, the one Sherlock feared would steal him away for good - well, this particular scenario just never came up in his hypothetical guesses about the future.

Until they kissed on that significant night three weeks ago. Until John told him he'd broken up with Emily (Amy? Lily? No matter). Until a night of sex so mindblowingly good that Sherlock was forced to reconsider his entire world view.

Now he's cuddled up with John in his bed – _their_ bed, he corrects himself, three weeks should be enough to consider the change permanent – and coming down from a particularly enjoyable high their latest carnal activities have provided them with. There isn't a layer between them except for their skin, warm and flush against each other. John hums softly, a joyous tune Sherlock remembers having heard on the radio, and though he doesn't know the lyrics he is sure that it's a love song. John is a romantic like that.

“You're soppy,” he tells him, not minding in the slightest.

“You're ridiculous,” John gives back, slipping a hand into his hair. Sherlock's eyes fall shut. “Pretending to know what I'm thinking.”

“I _do_ know, John,” Sherlock murmurs, listening to the stutter in John's heartbeat as he laughs.

“Then you know that I'm currently replaying the last half hour in my head, wondering how on earth I got this lucky.”

Sherlock hums in approval. “It _was_ rather spectacular, wasn't it?”

“Spectacular's a good word for it. I never knew you had it in you.”

Sherlock huffs, unbothered by his teasing. “You only needed to ask,” he says dryly.

“Yeah, I should have,” John mumbles, letting out a deep breath.

When he speaks again after a short silence, his voice is lighter. “You know, after Karen I didn't think I'd get sex that good again. That was... yeah, also bloody spectacular. But, clearly, I was wrong. Really can't say that I mind, though.”

Sherlock's eyes fly open. His mind distantly registers that John was paying him a compliment, but all he hears is this: _Karen and I had bloody spectacular sex. It was so good I didn't think anything else could compare, that's how fantastic it was._

Sherlock's eyes narrow to slits. He may be unexperienced when it comes to relationships, but even he knows that there's a certain period called the honeymoon phase, which John and he are definitely in right now. This phase inevitably ends at one point, when things get more tempered. Moderate sex at irregular intervals. Fighting instead of kissing every few minutes. Boredom.

John and _Karen_ were in a relationship for three months. They had passed the honeymoon phase. Their sex life had apparently not suffered because of it. At all. Meanwhile John and _him_ are only just getting started. Hormones are still clouding their judgement - hormones that will likely abate in due time, when Sherlock starts annoying John again or John gets angry about one thing or another.

That outcome is simply unacceptable.

John doesn't take long to fall asleep once Sherlock stops engaging him in conversation. Sherlock gently loosens his ams around him, pulling the sheet over John's body to make up for the loss of his warmth. Then he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, padding into the living room where his phone got lost in the whirlwind of tangled limbs and shed clothes earlier. He returns to the bedroom with his phone, climbing back into bed. He brushes John's cheek as he stirs, gazing at his face for a moment before opening the browser.

_How to have unforgettable sex_

A few articles pop up, mostly from women's magazines, and Sherlock reads through a few of them before he goes back and specifies his search.

_How to have unforgettable gay sex_

There are less links relating to this question, but he finds a handful that seem promising. He slides down the headboard, getting comfortable as he immerses himself in his research.

John next to him snores softly. Sherlock reads. Then he opens another link and reads more. He opens his notes app and starts a list.

By the time John stirs, he can see the sun coming up through the window. His eyes hurt, but he's satisfied with the results of his search. Still, the list is only a guideline, and an incomplete one at that. There are things he needs to ask John about, and things he has yet to add. He looks at John. His eyelids are fluttering, he will wake up in a moment.

“Morning,” he indeed mumbles just a moment later, stretching his back with a sustained groan. Sherlock eyes him.

“How do you feel about pain in relation to sex?”

John stops moving.

“Uh,” he says. Sherlock watches as his eyes settle on his face. “Why?” he asks cautiously, sounding much more awake. “Is this... are you planning something? Is this the part where you tell me about your secret kinks?”

“No, this is the part where I ask about _yours._ ”

“Well. Um. I've never really done anything like BDSM, if you mean that. Not sure if that's my thing. I mean, we could definitely try it, if you're into that. Figure something out.” He halts. “But maybe we should start slowly, I dunno.”

Sherlock hums in consideration. “What about other forms of pain?” he asks. “Some people seem to be of the opinion that hot sauce on the penis is a particularly enjoyable kind of hurt that heightens the arousal. Can you see yourself-”

“Stop,” John says, holding a finger to his lips. Sherlock's falls silent. “I'm not putting hot sauce on my penis,” he states, shaking his head. “And unless you're really into that, I'd rather not put it on yours either. Trying things out is fine, you know I'm up for... stuff, different stuff, but that's- yeah, no. I'm gonna draw the line there.”

Sherlock peeks at the finger still hushing him. He purses his lips to peck the tip, then draws back. “Fine. I'm not particularly interested in trying it either. There are far more intriguing things we can do.”

“Right,” John agrees. “As long as it makes us both happy.”

“That's the plan,” Sherlock says with a roll of his eyes, but bows down to kiss his cheek. “Cup of tea would be lovely,” he adds, smiling when John rolls his eyes as well.

“Don't know what I was thinking,” he mutters, slowly disentangling himself from the duvet. “Getting into bed with you, like I didn't know it was going to end like this.”

“It's the spectacular sex,” Sherlock reminds him. John huffs out a laugh.

“True,” he remarks, padding into the bathroom. Sherlock watches his back until he disappears from sight. Then he picks up his phone, opening the list he started last night.

_Verbal assurance of love/affection/lust (already taken care of - add more for good measure)_

_Vocal assurance of love/affection/lust (already taken care of - add more for good measure)  
_

_Darkness_

_Food play_

_Sensory stimulation_

_Roleplay_

_Pain_

He adds a question mark to the last bullet, making a mental note to research further methods of exploring pleasurable pain during intercourse before trying it out.

His eyes fall on the note at the bottom of the list, written with three question marks.

 _Lesbian bed death???_  

A horrendous concept created by a clearly homophobic sociologist. At a time where attraction to the same sex was still considered an illness too, as far as he remembers. Sherlock deems it rubbish, but he can't fully ignore it either. What if there is _some_ truth to it? What if there's a counterpart for men? He doesn't quite dare looking it up, but the lingering doubt remains.

Sherlock shakes his head. He drops the phone, rolling onto his stomach until he feels ready to get up. He's going to take a nap later, partially because he didn't sleep that night, partially because John enjoys taking those with him.

The list will be continued another time, when he's in more of a state to gather valuable data. And then, of course, it will be put into practice.

* * *

They spend a lazy morning on the sofa, indeed taking a nap together, before John goes out to run some errands and Sherlock devotes himself to the list again.

What the list lacks most is valuable data - input from John himself. Sherlock figures that he knows what excites him best, unless of course he wants to ask _Karen_ , which is not going to happen in a thousand years.

Though the information from an outsider _would_ be useful.

Still, he has John, and so there's no need to bring his apparently ridiculously skilled ex into their sex life.

When John returns that afternoon, Sherlock immediately latches on to him. John only grins and makes himself comfortable as he pets his hair.

“Missed you,” he says, and Sherlock smiles into his jumper. Then he tilts his head up, mouthing at his throat.

“John,” he purrs, kissing at his pulse until John lets out a sigh. “Tell me about your kinks,” Sherlock demands in a low voice, whispering the words into his skin in a way he knows will make John shiver.

“Not sure if I have any,” John gives back, not in the slightest surprised by the sudden enquiry. He tilts his head back to give him better access, letting his hands travel over Sherlock's chest. His touch makes it harder to focus, but Sherlock is determined to gather more information before they take this to the bedroom. Or the floor. Or the kitchen table, although that tends to end with both of them bruised and aching in a not-so-pleasurable way.

“Of course you do. Tell me.”

John huffs out a laugh, drawing back to gaze at his face. “If you already know, why don't you tell me?”

“I don't know everything, obviously. I need details.”

John leans in for a peck. “I really don't know,” he then says, shrugging slightly. “I'm not opposed to trying things to figure it out, though. Since you seem keen on that.”

Sherlock hums in consideration. “We'll try, then,” he decides, mentally ranking the list he's already composed from most to least important. Then he narrows his eyes. “You really don't have any preferences you know of?”

“Hmm,” John hums, leaning in until he's mere inches from Sherlock's mouth. His breath tickles Sherlock's skin, making him feel slightly dizzy. “Do you count as a preference? Because if that's the case, I have a very, very clear one.”

He presses their mouths together before Sherlock gets the chance to reply, and soon they topple over, never quite making it to the bedroom in the end.

* * *

“You said me,” Sherlock remarks during breakfast the next day, eyeing John over his slice of toast.

“Hm?”

John does not seem quite awake yet. Sherlock rolls his eyes, though he finds the sight rather endearing.

“Me. I'm your preference. Why?”

“Oh. Dunno, you just are. You're the one I love, course I'm gonna be excited about having sex with you.”

Sherlock is momentarily distracted by the declaration – not the first, but still evoking a pleasant blankness in his mind every time – before his previous thoughts return to him.

“So it's just me as a person? Does my body play into it at all?”

John's mouth falls open. “Jesus, you have to ask that? Apparently I haven't shown you enough just how bloody hot I find you.”

“Well.” Sherlock takes a sip of his tea. “You can always show me again, just in case.”

John glances at him, much more awake now. “Give me a few minutes to take a shower after this,” he says, gesturing towards his plate. “Then I'll be happy to comply with your wishes.”

Sherlock huffs. “If you must.”

He is actually rather happy about the few minutes he has to himself while John is in the bathroom. The first step to making their sex life the best John has ever had is something he can easily take care of.

Recreating John and Karen's pleasant experiences.

There is, of course, the minor obstacle that Karen has a vagina while Sherlock has not, but the possibilities for penetration don't end there (he's 94% certain it was penetration, John reacts the strongest to that particular practice, and it _is_ the norm between a man and a woman).

He swiftly grabs the bottle of lube, shedding his clothes before lying down. He's not hard yet, his cock only twitching in slight interest at the direction his thoughts are taking, but he knows he'll get there in short time. He opens the bottle, coating his fingers before reaching behind himself, massaging his muscles for a bit before pushing his index finger right in to the knuckle. He's still somewhat relaxed from last night, and so it doesn't take him long to adjust to the stretch. He brings his other hand to his cock, applying gentle pressure as he begins to stroke himself into hardness. He hears John stepping out of the shower and adds another finger, his breath coming in shallow huffs as he opens himself up, determined to be ready when John emerges from the bathroom.

He can't offer John vaginal penetration, but he can offer him a) his body, which he knows for a fact is something he enjoys and b) maximal pleasure with minimal effort. Two birds with one stone. Karen probably never managed that much.

John finds him this way, a hand wrapped around himself and three fingers up his arse.

“You don't happen to have seen my- Jesus.”

“No,” Sherlock pants, “haven't seen him in a while.”

John's eyes are fixed on his erect cock, his lips parted, whatever it is he was looking for momentarily forgotten. Sherlock can't help the smirk unfolding on his face.

“Having fun?” John asks when he manages to raise his eyes, the corner of his lips quirking up.

“I'm sure I'll have even more once you lose that towel and get over here,” Sherlock mumbles, his voice deliberately low, and the towel hits the floor before he even finishes the sentence. The mattress dips as John joins him on the bed, his hair still moist.

“Let me,” he murmurs, wrapping his hand over Sherlock's on his cock, and Sherlock lets his head fall back as the touch goes through him. He groans, opening his legs wider. Feeling the heat of John's gaze on him, he withdraws his other hand.

“John,” he murmurs, nudging him with his knee. “I want you.”

“Christ. I can see that, yeah. What's brought this on?”

Sherlock glances at him. “What, can't I be in the mood to have sex with my partner?” The effect of the words is somewhat diminished by his breathless voice.

John lets out a shaky laugh, leaning in for a kiss. “You can absolutely do that any time you want,” he assures him. His hand leaves Sherlock's cock to reach for the lube, squeezing some onto his fingers before coating himself with a few quick strokes. Sherlock parts his legs even wider and John settles in the space between.

“You sure you're ready?”

“More than that. No need to go slow.”

John licks his lips, his eyes flickering to his face before returning to his arse. “Yeah, alright. Good.”

He grips him by the hips, pulling him into position before bringing the tip of his cock to his entrance, eyes fixed on his face as he pushes in. Sherlock moans as the warm weight fills him up, a tight fit despite his preparations. It's a good stretch though, burning in all the right ways.

“Yes,” he mumbles, gripping John's shoulders as he adjusts to the feeling. “Yes, John, that's so good-”

“I've barely started,” John huffs out, but his eyes glint. Sherlock wraps his arms around his neck, canting his hips.

“I'm waiting,” he remarks, giving him an expectant look. John leans in to kiss him, skipping finesse and going straight for hot, open-mouthed slide of lips.

“You want it hard?” he murmurs, and Sherlock smirks, pushing back on his cock.

“Yes.”

Instead of replying, John bucks his hips to thrust into him. Sherlock's head sinks back onto the pillow.

“Fuck, yes. That's good, that's- ah,” he gets out, licking his lips as he stares up at him.

The feeling of John inside him is exquisite. Sherlock thinks of the list and finds once again that vocal and verbal assurances are already a given. The sounds he is making fill the air between them, mixing with the delicious groans John is letting out as he thrusts into him. They find a rhythm soon, meeting each other in electrifying thrusts time and time again until the pleasure heightens immeasurably.

Sherlock lets out a string of deep moans, letting it wash through him. His nails scrape John's chest, and he watches his mouth fall open in a silent gasp, not at all appalled by the slight pain. Interesting.

“Alright?” John gasps when their eyes lock. Sherlock nods, and on unspoken agreement they pick up their pace, thrusting harder and faster until Sherlock goes rigid and comes. John follows a moment after, collapsing on his chest as he spends himself into Sherlock with a few erratic thrusts. Sherlock's own release sticks between them, but neither of them minds.

Sherlock's arms come up to wrap around John's shoulders, holding him close in the way he knows John loves. It doesn't hurt that he himself is more than a little fond of that, too. He listens to John's breathing returning to a normal pace, deep and familiar in his ear.

“Do you prefer it like that?” Sherlock mumbles, his own limbs heavy with saturation. John turns his head to gaze up at him.

“Hm?”

“Coming inside me.”

“Oh. Yeah, it's nice. Wouldn't say that I prefer it, per se, it just feels... really good to be close to you. In whatever way.”

Sherlock hums in consideration. “I'll have to agree,” he remarks, leaning in to put a kiss on his lips. “It is rather spectacular either way.”

“Yeah,” John agrees with a smile, snuggling closer. “It really is.”

And it's going to stay this way, if Sherlock gets any say in it.

* * *

“John,” Sherlock purrs from the bedroom, knowing that he'll be heard despite his soft voice. It is the late evening, the sky outside torn between grey and pitch black. Sherlock has waited for this moment all day, getting ready in time before arranging himself on the bed.

John appears in the doorway. “Yeah?” Then his eyes fall onto Sherlock's stretched out body, and he takes a step into the room. “Oh. Hello.”

His hand reaches for the light switch.

“Don't,” Sherlock says, and John halts.

“No? Why not?”

“I want to do it like this. No lights.” He shifts his legs, knowing that the rustling of the sheets will be loud in the semi-darkness. “Are you coming in or what?” he asks, his voice lacking real scolding, and John is inside before he even finishes the sentence. Sherlock more hears than sees John removing his shirt, then discarding his trousers. When the mattress dips with his weight he is completely naked. Sherlock moves to where his body rests, reaching to touch him. His body seems all the warmer with the dark nearly robbing them of a sense. Sherlock's hands travel down his abdomen until his fingers curl around his already half-hard cock. He smiles with satisfaction, rolling over until he can straddle John's hips.

“Lie back,” he instructs, settling on top of him. He leans in to brush their lips together. John kisses back immediately, his hands coming up to cradle Sherlock's face. Sherlock is pleased to hear his breath speeding up as he strokes him into complete hardness, never taking his lips from his. He smiles when John begins letting out muffled moans into his mouth, deciding that he's exactly where he wants him. He lets go of him, pressing a final lingering kiss to his lips before he sits up, raising his hips from John's.

John gasps when he brings the tip of his cock to his entrance, sinking down slowly as he takes him in. His thorough preparation pays off, he has never been seated inside completely so fast. The fullness is a relief that draws a deep moan from Sherlock's throat, easing the need for touch that his own ministrations evoked.

John groans as he shifts, rocking his hips gently as he adjusts to the tight fit.

“Alright?” Sherlock murmurs, dragging his hands down John's chest.

He suspects that John nods, though the movement is hard to make out in the darkness. "Yes," he breathes out a moment later, gripping Sherlock by the hips. Sherlock squeezes around him and starts moving.

“Oh, god.”

They figure out a rhythm quickly, knowing by now what works and what doesn't. The knowledge is exhilarating, fuelling Sherlock's pleasure with satisfaction. He wraps his fingers around himself, stroking in time with their rhythm. John's hand comes up to his cock soon after, joining him in the stimulating caresses. The sounds their bodies make as they meet time and time again mix with their shared groaning, loud and prominent in the progressing darkness.

“Sherlock,” John gasps after endless minutes, his fingers digging into his sweaty skin harder. “I'm gonna-”

“Yes,” Sherlock grinds out, squeezing around him as he pushes back. “Do it. Come on.”

John only bucks his hips three more times before he comes with a small cry. He doesn't falter in his strokes, keeping up his insistent rhythm to drive Sherlock to completion as well. It doesn't take him long to follow. He soon spends himself with a groan and John's name on his lips, dropping down on top of him as his cock slips out.

His heartbeat slowly returns to normal. He buries his face in the crook of John's neck, inhaling his scent. Then he places kisses all over his skin, moving until he reaches his lips.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Very good.”

“Agreed,” John says, holding his face in place as he deepens the kiss. “Not that I don't love seeing you, but this was really... intense, I suppose.”

“It was,” Sherlock agrees, mentally marking darkness down as a success. He wouldn't want to do it like this all the time, he loves watching John during sex too much for that, but he figures it will add an exciting twist from time to time. And that's what it's all about, after all.

* * *

John does not get suspicious when Sherlock joins him for the grocery shopping, loading two spray cans of whipped cream into their basket before hesitating, then adding a third. He does not get suspicious when Sherlock disappears into the bedroom once they get home, knowing that John will be busy for a while with putting the groceries away and reading the news. (Sherlock has tried to introduce him to news apps, but John insists on buying traditional newspapers. It would annoy him if it wasn't so endearing.)

John definitely _does_ get suspicious when he enters the bedroom a few minutes before Sherlock planned on calling him, but it's no matter. He only takes one look at Sherlock's fingers shoved up his arse before he smiles, raising his hand to undo the cuffs of his shirt.

“This is becoming a habit,” he remarks. Sherlock stills for the fraction of a second. Habits are a thing of routine. Routine in the bedroom equals boredom, or as good as. This is the opposite of what he wanted to achieve. His heartbeat elevates; this is going into an _entirely_ wrong direction, though he has no idea what's gone wrong.

“I wouldn't say that quite yet, if I were you,” he remarks with a calmness he doesn't feel. John quirks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting as he shrugs off his shirt.

“Oh, really? You have something specific in mind?”

He steps closer to the bed and Sherlock reaches up to pull him down, making him land half on top of him.

“I usually have something specific in mind,” he remarks, and John huffs out a laugh.

“True,” he concedes.

“I would very much like for you to take your trousers off now,” Sherlock purrs, leaning in so his breath brushes John's ear. He knows it drives him mad, and the shiver he gets in reply soothes the agitation inside him he has felt ever since John mentioned the _habit_.

“I would very much like for you to make me,” John replies smoothly, and Sherlock smiles, flipping them over before John can say as much as another word. He straddles John's thighs, leaning in to kiss a trail down his exposed chest. His fingers move to the button of his trousers, deftly undoing it before pulling the zipper down in a slow tease.

“Up,” he murmurs, and John bucks his hips, allowing him to pull off his trousers and pants in one go. He gets rid of them quickly, then sits back to get off the bed. John blinks at him in confusion.

“What-”

“You weren't supposed to come in already,” Sherlock says, knowing that John's gaze is on the entirety of his naked body as he heads for the door. “I need to get something before we can start. Don't move.”

“Wasn't going to,” John mutters, the back of his head hitting the pillow. Sherlock retrieves the whipped cream from the fridge and returns. John's eyes immediately fall on the cans. His eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline, but he doesn't ask any questions. Sherlock puts one can on the bedside table before lowering himself between John's legs.

“You actually planned this,” John says, a smile tugging on his lips. “You just woke up one day thinking, oh yeah, why not put cream on John while we're in bed, and then you went to the shops to buy cream, and now you're going to put it on me.”

Sherlock didn't exactly wake up one day and just decide to put cream on John out of nowhere, but he nods anyway. “I don't see you objecting,” he points out, taking the cap off with his teeth. John swallows.

“Wasn't saying that I'm opposed to being covered in cream,” he mumbles, and Sherlock tilts his head.

“Who says you're the one who's getting covered?”

He shakes the can, then sprays a circle on the back of his hand. He brings it up to his mouth, locking eyes with John as he licks the cream off with his flat tongue.

John's chest is heaving. Sherlock smirks, making a show of crawling over him as he kisses his way up his stomach before landing a kiss on his lips. Then he tilts the can, spraying a straight line over John's chest. John's breath hitches at the coolness. His stomach twitches adorably. Sherlock leans in to lick between his nipples, then drags his tongue down his skin, flicking it as he laps the sweet cream. John lets out a small sigh, his hand coming up to Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock sprays another line on him, this time onto his belly, then proceeds to lick him clean thoroughly. He can sense John's growing arousal, notices his body responding, but he drags out the teasing, covers him in cream until John is a writhing mess beneath him.

“Please,” he gasps, canting his hips, and Sherlock has mercy, mostly because his own arousal is starting to border on uncomfortable. He slides down the bed, spraying white circles onto John's inner thigh. He licks over the warm flesh, getting closer to his cock with every touch of his tongue. He smirks, spraying directly onto his cock, covering the head and a bit of his shaft. Then he lowers his head, starting from the bottom as he licks a slow, hard stripe up his shaft.

John groans, lifting his head off the pillow to watch him. Sherlock holds his gaze as he swirls his tongue over the head, then looks down as he finally bobs and takes him in fully. He draws back only to sink lower, disregarding the saliva running down his chin. John's panting grows louder. Sherlock hums around his cock, knowing that the vibrations will drive him insane.

He groans when John's hand settles on his head, loosely slipping into his curls as he hooks his fingers into strands of his hair. He's not quite pulling, but Sherlock feels where he's holding on. He shuts his eyes, revelling in the sensation. He draws back, letting John's cock fall out of his mouth with an obscene pop. John lifts his head again to look at him, his eyes hazy. Sherlock smirks.

“I need an incentive,” he explains, and John's eyes widen in understanding as he reaches for the can, adding a new layer of cream to John's slick cock.

“You tease,” he gets out through his elevated breathing, and Sherlock kisses his cock before holding it at the base.

“Do you want to make a complaint?”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, gazing up at John's face through his lashes. He knows that John loves the pretence of coyness, and the smile on his face makes him hide a grin as well.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” he remarks, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. Sherlock has mercy on him, licking over the tip of his leaking cock before relaxing his jaw, taking as much of him in as he can as he swallows him down. John grasps the sheets under his hands, and Sherlock can tell that he's getting close. He abandons all attempts at finesse and just applies as much suction as he's able to, steadily going faster until John's hand in his hair twists almost painfully.

“I'm close,” he gets out, intended as a warning, but Sherlock braces himself for the taste and swallows him down as deeply as he can. When John comes it's almost directly down his throat, and he swallows until the remains of his release have left his mouth. He slowly drags his lips back up his cock, releasing him with a wet pop. He looks up as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Sweet,” he comments. John erupts into giggles, still boneless.

“Give me a minute,” he asks, and Sherlock nods, tugging on his aching cock once before sitting back, watching John's chest fall more evenly as he catches his breath.

“You're a menace,” he says eventually, supporting himself on his elbows as he sits up.

“I'm also hard as a rock,” Sherlock adds. John's eyes travel lower.

“I can see that,” he says, his smile turning into a smirk. “Well, can't leave you high and dry like this. Where's that can?”

Sherlock hands it to him, and then lets himself fall onto the mattress.

“I'm at your disposal,” he drawls, letting his legs fall open. John crawls between them within a second, leaving a trail of kisses on his thigh until he reaches his groin.

“Don't know where that came from, but it was a brilliant idea,” he mumbles, shaking the can a little before spraying a line onto Sherlock's stomach. It's a cool sensation, making Sherlock twitch slightly, and John smiles as he bends down to lick a stripe up his belly.

He hums, spraying more cream onto him that he then proceeds to lick off. Sherlock bucks his hips, pushing his cock closer to John in a not so subtle movement.

John laughs. “Patience, love,” he mumbles, steadily working his way towards Sherlock's already leaking cock, and Sherlock groans.

“John, please,” he huffs out. John's hand moves over his side, a gentle caress, and then he bows down without warning and takes him into his mouth. Sherlock lets out a strangled sound, forcing himself to keep his hips still in order not to choke John.

“You didn't even put the cream on,” he accuses him, though he can't say that he particularly minds. John draws back, easing off his cock to say, “Oops. Must have forgotten.”

Sherlock huffs at his smirk. “And you accuse _me_ of teasing.”

“Can't let you get away with everything, can I?” John asks, a glint in his eyes, and then he retrieves the can and sprays a copious amount of cream onto his cock. He bends down as soon as he abandons the can, licking off the drops that threaten to fall from his cock. Then he starts making his way upwards, twirling his tongue at the tip as he catches the cream. When he bobs his head to take him in again, Sherlock's hand finds its way to his hair.

“I'm close,” he mumbles, knowing that John dislikes the taste of ejaculate, and John hums around his cock, sinking deeper still. He knows Sherlock well enough by now to see the signs. When his balls tighten and his breathing grows ragged he pulls off, immediately bringing his hand to his slick cock. It only takes a dozen of his fast and hard strokes to tip Sherlock over the edge. He cries out John's name as he comes, clutching his shoulder as the pleasure washes through him. His mind blanks for a sacred moment of white, searing bliss and then, when he comes back to himself, focuses solely on John.

John stops moving his hand around him, bringing it up to wipe his mouth.

“Satisfied?” he asks with a smile, and Sherlock pulls him down, kissing him instead of giving an answer. He can taste his own precome and the sweetness of the cream in John's mouth, a heady mix that leaves him breathless.

“Quite so,” he murmurs when they part, pulling him on top of him until he rests comfortably on his chest. “Can't say that I didn't enjoy that.”

“Me neither,” John says with a chuckle at the understatement. His fingers roam over Sherlock's bare arm. “You and your mad ideas. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They are silent for a beat.

“You did buy another one of those spray cans, didn't you?”

Sherlock nods. "Two, actually."

John hums in consideration. “Give me a few hours,” he requests. “Then we might put them to good use as well.”

Sherlock rolls over and kisses him.

“Three hours, tops.”

John laughs. “You know what, I really don't think it's going to take me any longer than that.”

* * *

Despite his thorough planning, Sherlock isn't always the one to initiate sex. He's quite happy about that, as it's undeniable proof that John has not yet grown tired of their activities in the bedroom (or elsewhere, really. Sherlock has never known any limits. He's not going to start now). He obviously can't plan for special activities when John surprises him, but he makes up for it in enthusiasm, which, really, is nothing he doesn't already showcase anyway.

Tonight, though, he wants to surprise John. Tonight he wants to try something special. He takes a shower and prepares himself, mindful of John bustling around the flat, possibly entering the bedroom at any moment. Sherlock wants to be ready by the time he lays eyes on him.

Time is essential in this case. When he's gotten himself ready he throws on a dressing gown, heading into the living room. John is in his chair, his back to Sherlock as he enters. He doesn't turn to look at him, and so Sherlock steps behind his chair, putting his hands onto his shoulders. He bows down, letting his breath tickle his skin as he murmurs into his ear, “I'd like to have you in the bedroom right now, if you don't mind.”

John drops his papers. “Oh?” he asks, sounding intrigued. Sherlock smirks. He has yet to catch John on a day when he isn't up for anything physical, a fact which he counts as a success in itself.

“Yes,” Sherlock confirms, brushing the shell of his ear with his lips as he talks. “Go ahead, won't you? I'll be there in a second.”

John takes a slow breath. “I can do that,” he says with a nod, getting out of his chair. He brushes Sherlock's arm as he passes him, heading to the bedroom. Sherlock looks after him.

“John?”

John turns around, his eyes falling on the flash of pale skin underneath the dressing gown. He licks his lips. “Yeah?”

“Take off your clothes until I come back.”

John smirks. His hands travel to his shirt, undoing the first button. “On it, your majesty,” he calls over his shoulder, making his way to the bedroom before Sherlock can catch a glimpse of his exposed back.

Sherlock stares after him for a second before snapping out of it and heading for the freezer. He grabs the container he prepared earlier and listens for any sounds from the bedroom. Once the rustling of John taking his clothes off ebbs away, followed by the creaking of the mattress, Sherlock follows.

John looks up when he comes to stand in the doorway, his hands behind his back. “Close your eyes.”

John does as he tells him. Sherlock puts the container on the bedside table, knowing that John will pick up on the quiet sound of the sliding cubes. He lets his dressing gown fall to the floor before he crawls onto the bed, straddling John's thighs as he lowers himself. John's hands come up to his hips.

“I want to try something,” Sherlock announces in a low voice. John raises his eyebrows, but keeps his eyes closed. “If you don't want it, just say the word. We can do just fine without.”

He can tell John is intrigued from the slight curve of his lips. “Without what?” he asks, and Sherlock reaches under the pillow, taking out what he put there beforehand. He holds it for a moment, then takes John's hands from his hips and guides the fabric into them. John frowns as he rubs the texture between his fingers. He lets out a surprised sound as he realises. “A blindfold?”

“Only if you want to. It's not necessary, but I _have_ heard that it... adds to the experience.”

John is only silent for a moment. “I did say I was down for trying things out,” he remarks. He holds out the blindfold for Sherlock to take, lifting his head. Sherlock's breath hitches as he ties the cloth, gently guiding his head back down when he's done. His heart is beating faster in his chest than he anticipated.

“I'm not doing anything we wouldn't usually do. You can tell me to stop anytime,” he promises, leaning in for a deep kiss that John immediately responds to. He draws back, halting for a moment. He feels strangely vulnerable, considering he's not the one wearing the blindfold.

“I'm not sure if that's very comforting, considering what you and I have been up to lately,” John says, but his tone is light. He sounds curious. Aroused. He adds, “But I trust you, one hundred percent. With anything. You know what I like, probably better than I do myself.”

Sherlock swallows past the thickness in his throat. “It's about sensations,” he explains, moving his hands down John's chest.

“Okay,” John says, nodding him to continue.

“Your experience of them will be heightened due to the loss of one of your senses. If at any point you dislike what I'm doing or feel that the sensation is becoming too much-”

“Then I will tell you,” John promises, smiling a little. “Of course I will. But again, I trust you. You'll probably know before I do.”

“Alright. Good. Ready?”

John nods. Sherlock puts a hand on his face for a moment, feeling John lean in to the touch. Then he drags it down his jaw, along the line of his neck to his shoulder. He pauses on his chest, reaching for the container on the bedside table with his other hand. The ice is cool in his palm, immediately leaving a trail of wetness as it melts.

John lets out a sharp gasp the moment the ice cube meets his chest. “Christ.”

Sherlock removes it, gently placing it on another spot before taking it away. “Too much?”

“No, just... cold.”

Sherlock hums. He lowers the ice cube again, rubbing it over John's nipple without warning. He lets out another gasp, writhing under his touch.

“Ahh.”

Sherlock leans down to kiss the flesh, now cool from the ice, easing the coldness by wrapping his lips around the nipple. He puts the ice on John's belly, dragging it all the way down to his navel. John yelps, his stomach twitching at the touch, and Sherlock can see his arousal as his erection responds. He's a bit surprised that John reacts this strongly to his ministrations, having been unsure whether this would be a success beforehand. He can clearly see his misjudgement now.

What is even more surprising, though, is that Sherlock _himself_ is reacting so strongly. Of course he reacts to John's arousal, his body. Obviously, he always does. But this is... different. His own breath is coming faster and a little harder than usual. His cock is almost uncomfortably stiff, even with the lack of stimulation. This is clearly affecting him more than anticipated. It's not particularly having John blindfolded, it's the blindfold itself that catches his interest so thoroughly. It's the thought of reversing their positions, of being the one teased by John-

Oh. With a surge of arousal he realises that he _wants_ that. Very much. The thought of surrendering to John's control so completely is so intriguing that it momentarily cuts off his thought processes.

He went about this the wrong way, that much is becoming clear. Not that this isn't quite stimulating as well, but they _will_ have to switch later on.

But for now his focus is on John and giving him his pleasure. He moves away from his torso and starts teasing his limbs with slow drags, first his arms, then his legs. He lingers at the inside of his thigh, then gets back up to brush his neck. Within minutes John is panting.

“Please,” he gets out, “I need-”

He does not say what he needs, but Sherlock knows. He brings himself into position, relaxes as much as he can and brings the tip of John's cock to his entrance. He sinks down slowly, squeezing around John as he adjusts. John moans his name, his hands finding his hips, and they both still for a moment before they start a slow rhythm. Sherlock thinks of the ice cubes, thinks of what a shame it is that he didn't get to play with them as much as he planned, and then John shifts his angle to hit his prostate and he stops thinking about ice altogether.

Sherlock quickens their pace, revelling in the pleasure building in his stomach, the prickling sensation rushing through his limbs with every thrust. He lets out a deep groan, reaching for the container to grab a bit of melting ice. He puts it on John's chest and drags it down his skin, feeling the vibrations of his sharp gasps, the hitch in his breathing.

“Good?” he asks, his own voice breathless.

John's lips curve into a smile despite his panting. “Yeah, very good. Keep doing that.”

Sherlock does, applying the cool wetness to different parts of John's body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. He rides him all the while, dragging his hips back and forth in jerky movements that grow a little faster after a while, a little more erratic. He withdraws his hand from John's body in favour of closing it around his own cock, aching for some kind of touch, friction. He's getting close, very close, much closer than he wanted to be by now. He slows down his movements with a great deal of self-restraint, reminding himself that this is about John first and foremost. John makes a disgruntled noise as he stills, running his hands up and down his sides. Sherlock gives himself a last rough tug before pulling away, then pushes himself up to let John's cock slip out of him.

“What-”

John doesn't get to finish the sentence before Sherlock takes the remains of an ice cube in hand and moves it over the head of John's cock. He gasps, his fingers clutching the sheets as they fall to the side.

“God,” he gets out, turning his head. “God, that's-”

“Good?” Sherlock asks again, but he can tell that John is enjoying the duality of repulsion and arousal. He still eases off, determined to drive him over the edge before the discomfort of the cool takes over. He falls into a quick rhythm as he works his cock, kissing up his thighs and his stomach while he does so.

John doesn't take long.

Sherlock gives his cock a few more quick strokes, fast and hard, and then John is coming, painting his own stomach and Sherlock's hand with his release. His face looks different in orgasm when Sherlock can't see his eyes. He lets out a deep breath when he comes down from his climax, sinking into the pillow for a moment before breaking into a grin. Sherlock can only look at him for a brief second before his own arousal becomes overwhelming.

Sherlock's hands shake when he takes off the blindfold. John blinks up at him once he has his sight back, a smile on his lips. “Alright?”

“Yes.” Sherlock's voice croaks. “Just... yes.”

“A little agitated?” He gazes at Sherlock's cock, and he nods desperately. “Want me to give you a hand?”

“Please.”

John chuckles, gently pressing against his hips. Sherlock understands and crawls off him, letting himself fall back on the mattress. John sits up, running a hand through his hair before turning to Sherlock.

“Now,” he says, straddling his hips, deliberately brushing his erection with his thigh. Sherlock groans. “Where were we?”

“John,” Sherlock gets out, then halts. John stops moving, blinking at him questioningly.

“Yeah, love?”

“Could you- I mean, the blindfold, you might want to...”

John gives him a surprised look, a smile blooming on his face. “You want me to try it on you?” he asks, and Sherlock nods fervently. John lets out a quiet laugh. “Is that what made you so agitated? It wasn't about me being blindfolded, but you wanting to be?”

“I didn't know until we were already in the middle of it,” Sherlock says. John leans down to kiss him.

“We can do that,” he assures him, reaching for the cloth. Then his eyes fall on the container on the bedside table.

“Yes,” Sherlock says before he can even ask. John stifles a laugh.

“Alright,” he says lightly, reaching for the box. “Most of it's pretty much melted by now,” he says, peeking inside, “but I suppose we can work with this.”

“I don't think you're going to need a lot of that,” Sherlock admits, shifting his hips in an attempt to get some sort of friction, and John laughs and bows down to kiss him again.

“I love when you're eager,” he mumbles. Sherlock lifts his head and he puts the blindfold over his eyes.

“Okay?” he murmurs, and Sherlock nods. It's a strange sensation, and part of him rebels against the loss of the sense he relies on constantly, but most of him is exhilarated at putting the control into John's hands like that. It's thrilling, to be at his mercy while still knowing exactly that he is going to take care of him better than Sherlock himself could.

He quickly realises that John is not going to go easy on him, which is exactly what Sherlock wants- no, _needs_ right now. The first touch of the ice to his body feels like it's setting his skin on fire. Quite irrational, Sherlock thinks before his mind is overridden by pure physical sensations. John is using the ice as well as the melted water in the box. He dips his fingertips into it, slowly dragging them over Sherlock's body. Sherlock hears him taking the container, inhaling sharply when a few drops fall onto his belly. John teases him with the water for a while before he puts the box away and moves around for a bit. Sherlock groans encouragingly when he feels his fingers closing around him. He bucks his hips on instinct, pushing into John's hand. He is surprised when John's lips meet his, engaging him in a deep kiss that transfers all of his moans directly into his mouth.

“You're so good,” John mumbles when they part, mouthing along his jaw. Sherlock turns his head to give him better access. “So gorgeous like this.”

He licks over Sherlock's pulse, sucking a wet patch onto his neck before easing off again. His hand never falters in its rhythm, steadily taking Sherlock to his release. He's already so close, John's touch feeling electrifying in the darkness he's surrounded by, and he doesn't try to hold on. He's too aroused for that, lost in the sensation in a way he didn't expect, so focused on John and his presence everywhere that he's the only thing running through his head.

John seems to sense his desperation. He picks up his pace, adding a twirl to his rhythm every time he gets to the head of his cock. He starts mumbling sweet nothings, his soothing voice filling Sherlock's mind completely, exquisitely.

“John,” he says, knowing he will understand, and John's lips brush his again. Sherlock returns the kiss hungrily, gripping his shoulder tightly. John only strokes him a few more times before Sherlock goes rigid under his touch. He spills himself over John's hand, panting as the pleasure fills every cell of his body for an endless moment.

“Gorgeous,” John mumbles, covering the side of Sherlock's face with kisses. “I love you. You're amazing.”

“I love you,” Sherlock replies automatically, his mind still in a haze. John waits patiently for his heartbeat to calm down, twining their hands together.

“Come here,” Sherlock asks once he has returned to himself. He hears John's quiet laughter.

“Don't you want me to take the blindfold off first?”

Sherlock sighs as if this is a major inconvenience, but lifts his head to allow John's deft fingers to untie the knot. He blinks against the sudden light when the cloth is removed, his eyes immediately settling on John's face. He's giving him a soft smile, and Sherlock responds in kind.

“Now,” he says, tugging on his good shoulder. “Come here.”

John does, settling in by his side. “This experiment was good,” he says, turning to glance at Sherlock. “Bears repeating, if you ask me.”

“Indeed. Anytime you want, in fact.”

John giggles. “All the ice has melted,” he comments, “so maybe not today.”

“We'll make more,” Sherlock says, wrapping around him. “Much more. Loads.”

* * *

It's one of those days when it starts without either of them consciously deciding so. Sherlock takes one look at John on the sofa after he emerges from the bathroom and immediately changes his mind about continuing his experiment, making a beeline for his very comfortably looking chest instead. John lifts his arm as he snuggles up to him, running his hand up and down his side.

It only takes a few minutes of this until Sherlock tilts his head to nibble on his neck, and it only takes a few seconds of _that_ until John drops his papers and shifts around until he's facing Sherlock. He leans in for a kiss which he gladly grants, and when the push of his lips becomes more insistent John slides down the armrest, giving Sherlock's hands space to roam over his body. He's already beginning to show definite signs of arousal, a fact that Sherlock acknowledges with a smirk.

He slips his hands beneath the rim of John's jumper, caressing his warm skin for a while before pulling the fabric up. He leans in to kiss John's exposed belly, only drawing back when John sits up to pull the jumper over his head. Sherlock kisses the softness of his stomach again before travelling upwards, stopping at his nipples to suck the left one into his mouth, teasing with his tongue before giving a gentle bite. He repeats the procedure on the right side, humming around the flesh when John lets out a soft gasp.

“Come up here,” John asks, squeezing his shoulder, and Sherlock moves up, licking over his pulse before he kisses along his jaw until he reaches his lips.

“Impatient?” he murmurs, his lips moving over John's as he speaks, and then he takes his mouth. John forgoes a reply, cupping his face as he returns the kiss. Sherlock sinks into the touch for a long moment before drawing back, catching John's eyes as he smirks and then crawls down the length of his body again. It's clear where this is headed, but John still gasps when Sherlock holds his cock at the base, starting by licking over the head. He parts his lips and wraps them around the tip, applying light suction before relaxing his jaw to go deeper. He flattens his tongue, rubbing the silky skin as he bobs his head up and down.

It should be boring, keeping at the repetitive motions, but Sherlock can name few things that are more fascinating than bringing John to orgasm like this, tasting and feeling and working him in his mouth. And John is so responsive. Sherlock never tires of the sounds he makes, the way his body writhes under his ministrations.

He swallows him down for endless minutes, groaning when he tastes the first drops of precome on his tongue. It doesn't take long from then on. He fastens his pace, sucking harder, moaning around him when he feels his balls tightening. He draws back with a wet sound, completing the job with his hand. John lets out a string of curses at the touch, clutching the sofa with one hand and Sherlock's shoulder with the other as he cants his hips, and a moment later he is spurting between them, panting as Sherlock strokes him through his orgasm.

He only eases off when he begins to soften under his touch, the splutters of John's release on his hand. Sherlock is still wearing his clothes. Although, he notes as John's fingers start to fiddle with his buttons, he won't be for much longer. He pulls the shirt off his shoulders, giving his hand a quick wipe before moving to his trousers. Sherlock bucks his hips and finds himself flat on his back as soon as he's stripped bare, John looming over him with a beaming smile.

“Gorgeous,” he declares, kissing a trail down his body. His hand wraps around Sherlock's erection before his mouth even gets close, and Sherlock is so aroused that he fears he's going to black out at the simple touch. Then John adds his lips, sliding over the soft skin of his shift before wrapping them around the tip, slowly sinking down, and Sherlock curses under his breath, flailing his hands a little before remembering himself and settling them on John's head.

John chuckles around him, a sound that drives Sherlock mad with its vibrations, and he knows he won't take long. He knows that this is not considered desirable in a partner, but he has observed John growing even more aroused when it happened before, and so he figures that it does no harm. He stops trying to hold off, opening his eyes to watch his cock disappear into John's mouth. The sight is what tips him over the edge only seconds later. He tugs on John's hair in warning and he pulls off a mere moment before Sherlock is coming in spurts, covering his own stomach in drips of his release.

John's eyes are on his face as he comes down from the high, regarding him with an expression so adoring that Sherlock's chest contracts. Sometimes, Sherlock decides, spontaneity is _very_ good.

John is still giving him a hazy smile, and Sherlock reaches to pull him closer.

“I love you,” he tells him, and it comes out breathless with emotion. John's face softens.

“I love you too,” he says, leaning in to kiss him. “And I love everything we do together. You're incredible.”

They stay cuddled up while they come down from their high, as they do every time. Sherlock's fingers draw patterns on John's skin, his mind far away as he ponders their activities. His mind inevitably wanders to the list he keeps on his phone, the reason he started it in the first place. He is as satisfied as he can be, but this is more about John than him. He wants to make sure that he's enjoying himself, too. More than he did with Karen.

“Can I ask you something?”

John turns his head, raising his eyebrows. “Since when do you ask if you can ask something?”

Sherlock frowns. “That sentence is atrocious.”

“You know what I mean. You don't usually care about things like that. What's on your mind?”

“I've been wondering,” Sherlock begins, then halts. In hindsight a more subtle approach might have been more efficient, but John is always honest with him, so it should not matter. Right now he's gazing at him from the side, clearly waiting for the end to that sentence, so Sherlock continues, “What your preferred sex techniques were. With _Karen_.” He says the name delicately, drawing a surprised huff from John.

“Why do you- do I want to know why you're suddenly asking me about my ex-girlfriend two months after we got together? Ten minutes after we've had sex?”

“Simple curiosity,” Sherlock states. John continues to look at him, but nods slowly.

“Right. If you're sure you wanna know.”

“Quite sure.” Wanting is something entirely different from needing, but John doesn't need to concern himself with semantics.

“Alright, well. Uh. You might have guessed, but we didn't- well, we actually didn't have all that much in common. It was mostly just physical between us. We did have a lot of sex. A lot of very good sex, that is. Um. We did a lot of different positions, can't really say that one stuck out in particular. It was more... the mood, I suppose. You remember that we pretty much fought all the time?”

“I remember.”

“Well, that often led to... hell, it practically led to us having a go every time. Think we started annoying each other on purpose just to get a good shag out of it.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes. He remembers having read about this during his research, but he dismissed it back then. Hearing John talking about it now, he's becoming intrigued. “Angry sex,” he pronounces. John gives him a look, but nods.

“Yeah. It was... well. Spectacular. Our way of making up, I suppose. Though it obviously never got to a point where we actually got along.”

Sherlock hums in consideration. He lets it go after that, unwilling to let John dwell on his memory of Karen and her spectacular angry sex techniques for too long, but his mind turns his words over and over.

He has not considered this option, which in hindsight is definitely an erroneous oversight on his part. He might not be excited about the thought of fighting only to be able to make up afterwards, but John definitely seemed to be in his last relationship.

By the next day Sherlock has come to a decision. Initiating small fights – nothing major, of course – shouldn't be too big of a challenge, as he knows precisely how to push all of John's buttons. He's going to start tonight.

It's easy, in the end, to get a rise out of John. All he has to do is to be brusque all day, just a little more rude than usual, holding back the gentle touches he has grown so accustomed to giving, and he can see a frown settling on John's face by the time the evening rolls around. When John makes tea, he does not ask Sherlock if he wants a cup. He disappears into the bathroom while it cools down, and Sherlock immediately takes the opportunity presenting itself. Sneaking into the kitchen he grabs the cup, emptying a bit of its contents into the sink before taking it to the living room. He puts it down on the table, then grabs a book he doesn't intend to read. He does not look up when John returns, stopping on his way to the kitchen.

“Where-” He cuts himself off. Sherlock can see him searching the surfaces of the kitchen from the corner of his eye.

“Hm?” he makes, barely loud enough for John to hear, making his voice sound distracted and uninterested.

“Sherlock, have you seen my-”

Another sentence that does not get finished, as John's eyes fall on the mostly empty cup. “That's my tea,” he says, looking at him incredulously.

“No, it's mine now.”

“What the- how did you even manage to drink all of that so quickly when it's still steaming like a fucking- no, never mind that, why the hell aren't you making your own cup?”

“You usually make two. You only made one today. I took the liberty of assuming it was mine.”

“Yeah, I can see why you'd do that, because I told you 'Here, Sherlock, I made this single cup of tea for you and none for myself, please take it', right?”

Sherlock huffs out a laugh. John visibly gets angrier at the sound.

“Something funny?”

“You, getting all worked up. It's just tea, John.”

“Yeah, but it's not, is it? You've been insufferable all day, what the hell is all this about?”

It is true, Sherlock _has_ been insufferable all day. But hearing the words from John's mouth still stings in a way he didn't expect. It doesn't matter that he was pretending, John perceived him as an annoyance, and that is a highly uncomfortable feeling.

Still, what's done is done. Sherlock does not commit halfway. And it's much easier to get irritated than to deal with being hurt anyway.

“Oh, I'm the insufferable one? Meanwhile _you're_ the one bustling around the flat like other people don't need to focus on their work. You probably managed to disturb Mrs. Hudson downstairs with your trampling.”

John's jaw twitches. “I don't know,” he says steadily, his voice low, “what put you in such a splendid mood, but I'm telling you now to stop letting it out on me.”

Sherlock is out of his seat in a second, cornering John as he tries to ignore the sickening sensation spreading in his stomach.

“You're telling me to shut up? Is that it?”

“If all you're going to say to me is this crap, then yes, that's it!”

“You want me to shut up,” Sherlock repeats.

“Yes.”

“Then make me,” Sherlock growls, and he grips John's face before leaning in for a hard kiss. John gasps against his mouth, taking a split second before he reacts. His lips yield to Sherlock's insistent press and open, and then he returns the kiss so harshly that Sherlock thinks someone might draw blood.

John's hands come up to hold Sherlock's face. “What the fuck-” He interrupts himself with another kiss, only drawing back again to continue, “is up with you today? You bloody-” Sherlock groans as he presses up against him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders to keep him as close as possible- “bastard, I just-”

He never finds an ending to that sentence. Sherlock starts rubbing his hips against John's, informing him of his starting erection while taking note of John's own, and John slides his hands into his hair, giving a rough tug as he guides him back down.

“Take me to bed,” Sherlock hisses, covering his mouth with wet, open-mouthed kisses again. John immediately starts walking them backwards, practically dragging Sherlock down the hall to the bedroom. He claws at his shirt as soon as they're inside, clearly not giving a damn about the state of his buttons. Sherlock draws back only to pull John's jumper over his head, leaning in to back him against the wall with another kiss as soon as it's off. He fiddles with John's button, then his zipper, pulling his trousers and pants down in one go. They break apart as John steps out of the clothes and Sherlock uses the time to take off his own. He hardly gets to straighten before John is on him again, this time backing him against the bed until his calves hit the mattress. He pushes him down, not quite hurtful, but with enough force to send him flying backwards.

Sherlock pulls him down with him and their legs tangle for a moment until they arrange themselves, still sucking and biting at each other's lips.

“Fuck me,” Sherlock says, drawing back to look at John. “Go on, just fuck me.”

“You don't get to give me orders right now,” John mumbles, despite already reaching for the drawer. He takes out the lube, coating his fingers before moving down.

“Get on with it,” Sherlock demands. John gives him a glare. Then his fingers press against Sherlock's entrance, and Sherlock sees his eyes widening for a split second before they narrow to slits.

“And you fucking prepared again,” John growls, letting go of Sherlock's hips in favour of coating himself.

Sherlock has, a little while before John went about making tea. “Don't act like you don't enjoy it,” he snaps back, and then John's mouth is on his, kissing him through his moans as he pushes into him a little quicker than usual. He barely gives them both a moment to adjust, falling into a hard, fast rhythm immediately. It's exquisite, sending shock after shock through Sherlock as he approaches the point of no return with admirable speed, and he can tell from John's ragged breathing that it's the same for him. The air is buzzing between them as they work each other to their climaxes. Sherlock is a little swamped by the intensity, the exhilarating duality of roughness and the gentleness that is John at the core.

They're clutching each other as they come shortly behind one another, and Sherlock doesn't let go afterwards, curling around John until the gentle brushes of his hand tell him that they're alright. He tilts his head, offering a kiss, and John meets his lips in a reassuring touch.

John was right, this way of making up was heavenly after the earlier fight. He pushes the pang in his chest at their argument to the back of his mind and decides to repeat the experience.

John is even more easily annoyed the second time he tries to get a rise out of him. Sherlock realises that he is all too good at getting on his nerves. He's not sure it's a desirable goal.

John's breathing hitches when he finds Sherlock already ready for him again, but he seems to accept the fact. The third time too, though Sherlock can tell he's confused. By the fourth time he gives Sherlock a suspicious look. Sherlock, who is too turned on and miserable at the same time, dismisses it.

The fifth time, John stops in his movements.

“What is this about, Sherlock?”

“I should think that's fairly obvious,” Sherlock says, tugging on his arm to get him to move on. Instead, John sits back.

“You know, I don't think we've fought as much as we did the last two weeks in the entire last year. And it's always because you decide to rile me up. And you're prepared every time.”

Sherlock hesitates. “Your point,” he then says, and John shakes his head.

“Don't give me that. Stupid doesn't suit you.”

Sherlock huffs. “Stupid doesn't suit anyone.”

“Are you deliberately trying to annoy me just so we can have-” He blinks at Sherlock as the realisation hits him. “Angry sex,” he finishes, shaking his head once. “Sherlock, no. Seriously?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Sherlock replies, sitting up. His arousal has subsided, as has John's. He feels cold and something more than just naked – exposed.

“Yes, you do. Is this because I said I enjoyed the 'angry sex' with Karen? I did, yeah, but that doesn't mean that I prefer it to any other kind of sex. It was the best sex I've had with her, but with you- I love when we're gentle, or slow, or when I can feel that you love me while we're together. And we've done so many good things since we've gotten together. I prefer any of those to fighting with you only so we can have some kind of rough sex afterwards.”

Sherlock listens to John's words in silence. “You said it was spectacular,” he then says. “I assumed it would make up for the fighting part.”

“Didn't it bother you yourself?” John asks, his brow knitted. Sherlock nods after a second.

“Well. Trust me, I'd rather never fight and never have spectacular angry sex than doing any of that on a regular basis. We get on each other's nerves enough sometimes without doing it on purpose.”

Sherlock is quiet for a moment. “I wasn't going to stage any major fights anyway,” he then mumbles, meeting John's eyes.

John's lips curve up in a smile. “Probably still best if you don't stage any at all.”

Sherlock nods. “I concede it.”

They look at each other for a beat. “I'm not really in the mood anymore,” John says, and Sherlock lets out a relieved sigh.

“I was hoping you'd say that.” He's not sure if he could have worked himself back into a state where he would have made for a desirable partner. “Stay here?” he then asks, and John nods.

“We already shed all those clothes,” he remarks, settling in on the mattress next to Sherlock. Sherlock lies down as well, rolling onto his side to be closer to him. He pulls the duvet over them, then wraps an arm around John's waist. “We should do some cuddling to keep warm.”

Sherlock snorts, but holds him tighter in response. The touch of John's body flush against his is good. Very good. He closes his eyes, breathing in his scent. They remain like that for a long time.

He does not induce any fights again.

* * *

“I don't suppose,” John says, his fingers threaded through Sherlock's hair, “that there's something you want to tell me?”

Sherlock, comfortable in his lap as he rubs his erection against John's in a slow, lazy rhythm, hums. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

John huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, might be better if we take this to the bedroom before we're too far gone,” he remarks, his fingers digging into Sherlock's sides.

“I don't mind.”

“My chair _is_ a bit narrow.”

Sherlock sighs, but slides backwards until he is standing before him. Holding out a hand he asks, “In that case, may I?”

John smiles up at him and takes his hand. He kisses him as soon as they reach the bedroom, fiddling with his jumper before taking care of his jeans. Sherlock undresses as well, although he's done much quicker, seeing as he was only wearing a tight pair of pants in the first place. John teases his mouth open in a deep kiss as he climbs over him again before drawing back.

“I'll get the lube.” He pauses. “Or did you already-”

“Yes,” Sherlock confirms, reaching for his cock. John, instead of letting him, grasps his wrists, pinning them over his head as he leans in.

“You know,” he says, his warm breath ghosting over Sherlock's face, “you don't have to do that every time. I don't mind. I like it. I like doing it for you.”

“Oh.” Sherlock halts, tilting his head. “You do?”

“Yeah.” John grins down at him. “You make _the_ loveliest sounds when I open you up. And anyway, it kind of belongs to the whole thing, doesn't it? Doesn't feel right to let you do everything.”

Sherlock squints at him. “Would you say that you like it more when I don't open myself up beforehand?”

He doesn't mind doing it, but if John _wants_ to take care of that part, he's really not opposed. His fingers do feel so perfect inside him after all.

“Well, I mean, don't get me wrong. That's- yeah, it's really fucking lovely. But I love it even more when I can see your face while you adjust to me. It's just- it's bloody hot, that's what it is. So I suppose I generally prefer doing it myself, yeah.”

Sherlock hums, nodding once. “Alright. That's good to know.”

“Or,” John adds, licking his lips as he blinks at him, “you could do it yourself, but where I can watch. If that's something you don't mind.”

Sherlock sits up, poking him in the chest.

“And you told me you didn't have any kinks.”

“I do not!”

“Voyeurism, John. Not as uncommon as people think.”

John narrows his eyes as he ponders that. “Well,” he says, “I suppose that I don't mind watching. Quite the opposite. Don't think I would like being watched, though. At least not by strangers.”

Sherlock nods. Now they are getting somewhere. “It's fine,” he says, patting John's hand before climbing into his lap, this time pushing him onto his back. “I'll be happy to show you just how I prepare myself next time. For now, though...”

“You're already opened up and ready to get going,” John finishes, tilting his head up to kiss him. “Lucky for you, so am I. You're just too bloody gorgeous like that.”

“Am I?” Sherlock muses, grinding his arse over John's erection. John groans, his tongue darting out as he stares up at him.

“Yeah, really bloody gorgeous. The most beautiful person I've ever met, in fact. I don't tell you often enough.”

Sherlock hums, reaching behind himself to hold John's cock in place. “You can- ah, absolutely tell me anytime you feel like it,” he remarks, slowly sinking down as he takes him in inch by inch. John forgoes an answer, instead gripping him by the hips to keep him steady.

“Fuck. Alright?”

“Yes. It's good.”

“Okay.” John licks his lips before he gives an experimental thrust. Sherlock's eyes fall shut as he lets the sensation flood him. Then he starts moving along, steadily picking up his pace.

They keep up their rhythm, alternating between hard and shallow thrusts. It's good, very good, but John's breathing isn't changing the way Sherlock is used to hearing. It's not enough to make him climax. He confirms his suspicion when he brings a hand up to Sherlock's face a few moments later.

“Can we change positions?” he asks, brushing a curl out of his forehead.

Sherlock nods immediately. “Of course. How do you want me?”

“On your back? I still want to see your face.” That is something Sherlock has realised quickly about John - he loves seeing his face during sex. It's almost like he gets off on it. Sherlock expected a variety of positions that would make one of them face away from the other when they first started sleeping together, but John never initiated that. When Sherlock tried it once John asked to change positions after only two minutes, not taking his eyes off his face for the remainder of their activities.

“Yes,” Sherlock says, letting him slip out before rearranging himself so his back is flat on the mattress. John looms over him within a second, crawling into the space between his legs. Sherlock hooks them around his waist, pulling him closer. John grabs his hips as he enters his body again, then leans down and kisses his forehead.

“That good for you? You like it?”

“Understatement,” Sherlock huffs out, returning the intense gaze he's giving him with a smile. “Go on. It's so good. I love it.”

“I love you.”

“That, too,” Sherlock says, and John laughs. He does go on, expertly building Sherlock's pleasure while gradually losing his own control. He wraps a hand around Sherlock's cock, joining him in his hard strokes, and together they work him until he's almost there.

“I want you to come first,” John pants, kissing Sherlock's jaw as he thrusts into him, and Sherlock closes his eyes, going just a little faster, just a little harder until he's past the point of return. He throws his head back when he comes in heavy spurts, letting out a few deep moans. John stares at his face, keeps pushing into him as his orgasm takes over and ebbs away again. He doesn't take long to follow, his thrusts becoming almost erratic until he stills, his body going rigid as he releases himself inside Sherlock.

They catch their breath for a minute, feeling nothing but each other and their shared bliss. Sherlock lets his legs fall open when John pulls out, reaching for him. John follows the invitation willingly.

This, Sherlock thinks, is something John and Karen probably never did. The thought puts a smile on his face. He rolls over and holds John tighter for good measure.

* * *

“I would like,” Sherlock says, crawling over the sofa as he goes for John's neck, “to try something.”

“Yeah?” John sounds mildly interested. Sherlock can't blame him; the neck kissing might be considered a clue, but this is not the first time he brought up something completely unrelated while they were otherwise occupied.

“Mhm,” he confirms, resting his hand on John's chest. He's not under the fabric, nothing indecent, but he can tell the exact moment John's focus shifts from his phone to Sherlock's ministrations.

“And what is it you want to try?” he asks, tilting his head a little to give Sherlock better access to his neck. Sherlock sucks a light bruise onto his skin before he reluctantly draws back.

“Roleplay.”

John wavers for the fraction of a second. Then he asks, “Roleplay as in roleplaying games online, or roleplay in the bedroom?”

Sherlock narrows his eyes at the first option, shaking his head slightly in question. John just shrugs, his face clearly expressing _Could have been that, with you_.

“The latter,” Sherlock says. “If you're willing to give it a try, that is. It is supposed to 'spice up the sex life considerably'. Apparently.”

John looks dubious, but nods slowly. “Alright. Not that we need any spicing up as far as I'm concerned, but let's try, sure. What do you have in mind?”

“There is a list,” Sherlock begins and takes out his phone. John eyes it warily.

“Right. Of course there is.”

Sherlock gives him a look to silence him. “I'll read it out loud. You tell me if something appeals to you. These are just first options, we can look up more if you want to.”

“Right.”

“Number one, repairman.”

John snorts. “Wanna see my tool?” he asks, his voice deep and rough. Sherlock's lips twitch.

“Maybe not that. Number two, Professor and Student.”

John narrows his eyes. “Apart from the fact that this is probably the most cliché roleplay I can imagine, I'm not sure which one of us would take on the role of the student.”

Sherlock considers this. “I could do it,” he says.

John huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, don't think I could take that seriously in any way whatsoever. Maybe not. Next one?”

“Stripper.”

John opens his mouth, then pauses. “That- hm. That could work. If you're the stripper.”

“You mean I give you a lapdance and then we have sex? Because that has happened before, even without the roleplaying.”

John grins. “Yeah, I know. I remember.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes fondly. “Next, Porn Star.”

“Uhuh, sure.”

“On-Camera Porn Stars.”

“Not as long as we're in the public eye as we are right now, no.”

Sherlock snorts as he reads the next one. “Cheerleader and Football Player.”

“Only if I get to be the cheerleader,” John says and bats his eyelashes.

“Strangers at a Bar?”

“That could work. I suppose.”

“We'll keep it in mind. Next one is your favourite movie.”

“Oh!” John's eyes glint. “I get to be Bond and you get to be Q?”

“You would make a good Bond,” Sherlock agrees, giving him a considering look. “Let's keep it in mind.” His eyes fall on the list again. “Fireman.”

“To give you an excuse to actually set the flat on fire? Nope. Next?”

“Client and Call Boy.”

“Intriguing.”

“Noted. Hollywood Starlet.”

“Which one?”

“Make one up. Cosplay one. I don't care.”

“You wouldn't know either way.”

“Probably not,” Sherlock agrees. “Royalty and Servant.”

“That's practically us every day.”

“Very funny. Painter and Muse.”

“Uh. Neither of us can paint, though. Would probably kill the mood if I got the giggles because I made you into a stick figure.”

Sherlock's lips curve into a smile. “Doctor and Nurse,” he continues, catching his eyes.

“That's even more cliché than the student-professor-thing. Not sure I need doctoring in the bedroom too, really.”

“I see. Lastly, Innocent versus not-so-innocent.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“One of us pretends to be naïve and the other teaches him about sex.”

“God, _no_. I probably wouldn't be able to keep a straight face before either of us even started speaking.”

“Rightfully so."

"That's all of them?”

“All from that list. There are plenty more, if you want-”

“No need,” John cuts him off, putting a hand over his as he tries to reach for his phone again. “That's quite enough to go on the first time, don't you think?”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods. “We agreed on Stripper, Strangers at a Bar, Favourite Movie, or Call boy and Client. Any preferences?”

“Not really.” John narrows his eyes. “It's not like I really know what to expect from any of that. I'll just... let you pick one.”

“Hmm. Alright.” Sherlock folds his hands beneath his chin, thinking for a moment. “Since I want to start tonight and we have little time to get into character, I'd say that Client and Call boy is the best choice.”

“Okay, good. That's fine.”

“Which role would you prefer to take on? I assume that I would be more comfortable as the call boy, seeing as I'm used to slipping into aliases for cases. You could maintain an easy persona as the client.”

“Alright. If that's okay for you.”

“Of course it is.” He gets up, giving John a brief glance before he announces, “I'm going to go out for a bit and prepare my character. You might want to consider doing the same, though you can mostly just be yourself. But not completely. That would defy the point of a roleplay.”

John's lips quirk into a smile. “Alright, I'll think about it.”

Sherlock nods. “Very well. I'll be seeing you in an hour or so. Be ready.” And with a wink he is out of the door.

He strolls through the park while he ponders how he wants to approach this. He is fairly certain that John is going to want penetrative sex, seeing as that's probably the norm when hiring a call boy, and John topping is one of their mutually preferred positions anyway. That Sherlock is going to prepare himself is a given - he _has_ been listening to John's wish to let him do it, but in this scenario it would be unrealistic not to do it. Or so he thinks. He has never been in this situation before, so it's bound to be a little unrealistic either way. He is also fairly certain that John has never rented a call boy either, so this is new territory for both of them. He will just have to trust his instincts.

He thinks about opening himself beforehand, but dismisses the idea. He wants to get started as soon as he returns home, and a call boy would hardly lock himself in the bathroom before pleasuring his client. He is going to do it as part of foreplay, then.

When he has come up with a more or less fixed plan of what he wants to do as well as some characteristics he deems fitting for call boys, he turns to get back to Baker Street. He slips into character as he approaches the flat, straightening his back while he climbs the stairs. He puts his keys away, knocking on the door instead.

He hears John's steps inside the flat. A moment later he opens the door. “Oh, it's you,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Did you forget your-”

“Hi,” Sherlock cuts him off, giving him a flirty smile as he beats his eyelashes. John looks at him in confusion. “Did someone here order some _entertainment_ for tonight?”

John barely manages to hold back a snort. “Er, yes. I did. Um, good to meet you. Come in, won't you?”

He steps aside and Sherlock goes in. He waits until John's eyes are on him again before he slips the coat off his shoulders in a slow, sensual movement, carelessly dropping it on a chair.

The top two buttons of his shirt are undone. There is a beat of silence as John just looks at him, clearly not knowing where to take it from there as his eyes linger on the flash of his exposed chest.

“And what's your name?” Sherlock asks, one corner of his mouth curving up in a smile he doesn't have to fake.

John blinks. “Tom,” he then says, clearing his throat. “It's Tom. And you are- Sherlock?”

Sherlock nods, not seeing his preference for his real name as an obstacle. “It's nice to meet you, _Tom,_ ” he says, crossing the distance between them until John has to tilt his head to look at him. He has to stifle a grin at the choice of name.

“I would like to take you to bed, Tom,” Sherlock purrs, lifting John's chin with a gentle touch of his finger. He puts a kiss on his lips that goes from soft to teasing soon enough, and within a few seconds they are snogging in the kitchen. John's hands slip into Sherlock's hair, holding him in place as his lips part, welcoming him in the warmth of his mouth.

“Well, Sherlock,” he says, blinking at him with a barely suppressed grin. “I would like for you to take me to bed. I've booked you for an hour, is that right?”

“You're getting as long as you want tonight,” Sherlock says, taking his hand with a wink. “Special offer.”

“Ah.” John licks his lips. “In that case...” He takes Sherlock's hand, leading him to the bedroom. Sherlock steps closer as soon as he lets go of him, raising his hands to slip them beneath his clothes.

“Nice jumper,” he comments, and this time a giggle escapes John. “Though I believe that you would look even better if you took it off.”

He tugs on the fabric and John takes the hint, pulling it over his head quickly.

“Go on then,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. Sherlock doesn't need to be told twice. He holds John's gaze as he undoes his buttons one by one, his hands lingering near his groin once he reaches the last one. Then he lets the fabric slide off his shoulder. He reaches down to open his trousers, pulling them down slowly. He takes off his socks and pants, teasing with the latter until even he starts feeling ridiculous.

“May I?” he asks when he's naked, reaching for John's trousers.

“By all means.”

John's remaining clothes soon join Sherlock's on the floor. Sherlock backs John to the bed, dragging his hands over his hips, not quite touching his half-hard cock yet.

“Well, Tom, what do you want to do tonight? I'm at your disposal.”

John bites his lip, half in arousal, half in an attempt to stop himself from laughing.

“Well, Sherlock, since I paid good money for you, I think that I would quite like a long go. You could... get me a little more excited, for starters. Before I take care of you later on.”

“Of course,” Sherlock replies immediately, smoothly adding, “in fact, why don't I start right now?”

Before John can as much as open his mouth Sherlock sinks to his knees, resting one hand lightly on John's hip as he curls the other around his cock. He strokes him just once, twice, before he leans in and wraps his lips around the tip.

John gasps the exact way he does every time Sherlock takes him by surprise. The sound resonates down his spine and Sherlock, ignoring his own arousal, teases the slit at the tip with his tongue before slowly sinking lower. He takes deep, deliberate breaths as he moves his lips down the shaft, forcing his jaw to relax, careful to avoid his gag reflex. John lets out a muffled sound, his hand coming up to Sherlock's neck, twisting into his hair without any real intent to pull, and Sherlock hums around his cock in affirmation, drawing back before taking him in even deeper. He starts sucking, hollowing his cheeks the way he knows will drive John insane, cherishing his taste flooding his mouth. He _loves_ the taste of John, the feeling of his silky skin inside his mouth, his heavy weight on his tongue. It's addictive, and when he closes his eyes and pretends to be Sherlock the Callboy it almost feels like getting to experience this for the first time again. A shiver runs down his spine. He swallows around John's cock, giving a hard suck before drawing back and immediately sinking down again, lower still than before. John hisses.

“Sherlock...”

Sherlock eases off his cock, licking over the tip before looking up through his lashes. “Yes, Tom?”

John looks confused for a second before he finds his voice again. “We might want to- lie down. This is getting... christ, you're good. You are very good at your job. Is all.”

Sherlock gives him a pleased smile. “In that case, you may want to lie back indeed,” he suggests, guiding John backwards with gentle presses to his thighs. “Because I am only just getting started.”

John swallows visibly, taking a step back.

“On the bed?” he asks, and Sherlock nods. John wriggles backwards as he hits the mattress. Sherlock follows him after opening the drawer, a bottle of lube in his hand. He squeezes a good amount onto his hand, reaching behind himself to start the preparations he's so familiar with by now. He settles between John's legs while he adjusts to the feeling of his own fingers, resuming his actions without giving John time to catch his breath. Soon John is writhing beneath him, and Sherlock, working himself open with quick, efficient movements, isn't in a much better state.

It's exhilarating. Sherlock could do this all day, but he forces himself to slow down. John's breathing indicates that he is getting closer to his climax than Sherlock wants him to be just yet, and he seems to have forgotten about their roles entirely. Sherlock decides to remind him before he's too far gone. He lowers his head one last time to suck him down to the root, then pulls back, letting John's cock fall out of his mouth with a pop. John makes a protesting sound, blinking his eyes open at the sudden loss of the wet heat around him.

“I could finish you off right now if you like,” Sherlock says when his eyes focus on his face, “but I recall you saying something about just getting you excited?”

“Yeah,” John pants, nodding once. “Yeah, you- wanna fuck you, if you're up for it.”

“Of course I am up for it, Tom,” Sherlock says, emphasizing the name. “It _is_ what you paid for, after all.”

John blinks, but nods. His lips quiver. “Right. Yes.”

Sherlock crawls up his body to kiss him, preventing the laughter from spilling out. If John starts, he won't be able to hold himself back either. John responds to the kiss readily, soon relaxing under his touch.

Sherlock draws back to say, “My clients have told me that I am an exceptionally good fuck.”

And John's composure goes out of the window. Sherlock can only bear to watch his shaking body beneath him for a second before he loses control of himself as well. He hangs his head as he laughs, burying his face in the curve of his neck. John's arms come around him, loosely holding him close. It feels so good, being with John like this. Laughing together in bed. Better than anything Sherlock ever imagined before they did these things together. But, he reminds himself, they _did_ want to try this out in earnest. Sherlock inhales deeply and raises his head.

“Shh,” he hushes him, putting a finger to his lips as he shakes his head. He barely manages to control his own features as he takes another breath and says, “You paid for the entire night, and I am yours to do with as you please. By all means, have your way with me, Tom.”

John bites his lip, closing his eyes briefly before replying, “Then I'd like for you to ride me.”

Sherlock ignores the quiver in his voice, giving him a cocky smile. “As you wish,” he says, and he swings his legs over John's hips, holding his cock at the root as he sinks down inch by inch.

John gives an encouraging groan. His hands come up to hold him by the hips, steadying him while he sinks down. He prepared himself quickly, not being as thorough as he usually is and it's a tight fit, a stretch that is almost on the side of too much, but Sherlock knows that it will subside in due time.

“You good?” John asks, gazing up at his face, and Sherlock nods after a moment, rocking his hips once. A sound escapes him that he doesn't have to pretend, a low moan, and John swallows at the noise, reaching upwards to take hold of his face.

“Kissing costs extra,” Sherlock deadpans, and John snorts as another giggle fit overtakes him.

“I'm willing to pay,” he remarks as he gets his breath back, and Sherlock leans in to kiss him. They can't stay like that for too long, the angle is awkward and his back hurts, but he indulges in a deep kiss before straightening again.

“Fuck me, Tom,” he then says, well aware of the glint in his eyes, and John doesn't even pretend to fight the laughter bubbling up in him. The mask has slipped, but with John's cock tightly seated inside Sherlock, neither of them cares all that much anymore. They are still grinning when he starts rocking his hips up, with Sherlock meeting him for every thrust, and the combination of the two movements is so arousing and enticing that it doesn't take long for them to forget all about any roles they are supposed to play.

“John,” Sherlock gasps when his fingers wrap around his cock, and John groans.

“Yeah.”

Sherlock supports himself on his good shoulder, riding him faster. His thighs strain with the effort, but he'll be damned if he stops now. He comes first, arching his back as he spurts between them, John's thrusts milking every last drop from him. John doesn't take much longer, following soon after him as he pushes into his body, spending himself inside him.

Sherlock leans down to kiss him through it as he groans out his climax, trying to taste the noises he's making.

“I love you,” he says, and John blinks at him in a haze for a few seconds before replying, “Is this part of your service too?”

Sherlock can't help the snort escaping him at that, and suddenly they are both giggling, feeling the absurdity of the situation in every sated cell of their bodies. John is still inside Sherlock and he knows it's going to grow uncomfortable soon, but he can't be bothered to care. They laugh together, with Sherlock's head buried in the crook of John's neck and John's arms slung around his waist, holding him close, feeling every movement of the other's body.

When Sherlock does grow uncomfortable he lifts his hips and lets John slip out of him. He knows that he will make a mess of the two of them as well as the bed, but he doesn't care. They'll just have to change the sheets in a bit. He rolls off of John, lying on his back as he catches his breath. John's body is a warm, comfortable weight beside him, skin touching naked skin, still brimming with the laughter going through them at irregular intervals, and it is _wonderful._

“Well,” John says when they have both calmed down, traces of his glee still sitting in his voice and the lines on his face. “That was, how do I best say it... an experience.”

“I agree,” Sherlock says, snuggling up to his chest. “Tom.”

John snorts. “Yeah, alright. Christ. So, how about that? Something you'd want to repeat?”

“Maybe. Possibly in the future. With different roles. But not on a regular basis, no.”

“Good. Me neither. Though I wouldn't mind giving it a go every now and then, if it always ends like this... I love laughing in bed with you. Really love it.” He presses a kiss to the crown of Sherlock's head. “But I like having sex with _you_. As me. Not some sort of role we created beforehand.”

“Yes,” Sherlock says. He can't quite help glowing up at that. There really is no other feeling quite like being adored by one John Watson. For once, it's an addiction he doesn't mind all that much.

* * *

Coming down from an orgasm is always pleasant, improved only by having an equally sated John curled up against him, sharing the feeling.

Until John starts speaking.

“You've been really keyed up lately, haven't you?”

Sherlock's eyes fly open. His gaze settles on John's face as he asks, carefully neutral, “I just enjoy being close to you, don't you?”

“No, yeah, of course I do. 's bloody brilliant, of course it is. Don't go thinking that I'm complaining.” He presses a kiss to Sherlock's naked chest, brushing his fingers over his side. “It's just a lot, that's all. I'm not twenty anymore, you know. I'm kind of surprised I can still keep up. Even though you're not that much younger than me, really don't know how you do it.” He glances up at Sherlock through his lashes, his lips curving into a smile. “Must be your influence, giving me superhuman stamina.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes at him. John huffs out a laugh. “Yes, that is a compliment.”

“Right.” Sherlock glances to the side before looking at him again. “Thank you.”

John snorts. “You're ridiculous,” he informs him. Sherlock only huffs, distracting John by running his hand up and down his back until he melts against him.

John is asleep quickly afterwards, falling victim to the exhaustion he just alluded to. Sherlock is not. Instead he watches John, the steady rise and fall of his chest, his eyes flickering beneath his lids. An uncomfortable sensation curls his stomach into a tight knot, leaving him with a faint sickness.

John has grown _tired_ of their sexual activities.

This is unacceptable, Sherlock decides. Their sex life clearly needs a new spark. Something to bring back the excitement where exhaustion has taken over. Where John has grown _weary_ of him.

Sherlock grabs his laptop and settles back on the bed. Most tips to spice things up in the bedroom are still rubbish – they already try out new things, all the time. They have sex at different times of the day, for different lengths, in different places, different positions, with different additional help.

There is one suggestion that is interesting, though. Playing with senses. Experimenting with sight and coolness has proven to be very successful, so Sherlock thinks that further explorations in that area would go well.

He gives it a try the next time they have sex, starting by putting up scented candles before he lures John into the bedroom. The sweet fragrance fills the room around them subtly, only noticeable when he consciously breathes in, but it adds a nice touch. And the visual stimulation of the candlelight is quite something, too. John bathed in the warm glow is a breathtaking sight. This particular night is incredibly tender and leaves Sherlock shaking with the intimacy of being this close to John. But he knows that just candles won't be enough to hold John's interest.

There's another tip that makes him think. The website advises couples to hold themselves back for a while so that the next time they get intimate, it will be even better. Considering that John is _tired_ because they've been having too much sex, this does not appear to be the worst idea. He decides to give it a try.

Things work fine for the first two days. John is tired when he gets home and Sherlock takes a case, so neither of them has too much time on their hands to think about sex.

On the third day, John approaches him. Sherlock is in the kitchen when he steps behind him, wrapping his arms around his back as he's making tea. Sherlock stills at the feeling of the bulge in his trousers pressing against his backside.

“John,” he says in acknowledgement.

John hums. “You up for a go?”

Sherlock swallows thickly, trying to force the blood rushing downwards back into his brain.

“I don't- there's, ah. A case. I need to take care of. If you'll excuse me.”

John gives him a perplexed look as he steps back, allowing him to slip past, the tea forgotten on the counter.

Sherlock practically flees the flat. John gives him a scrutinising look when he gets home a few hours later, but doesn't ask.

The next time John approaches him, it is Sherlock's own fault. They have refrained from having sex for four days and nine hours, and Sherlock's mind has narrowed down to every inch of exposed skin John parades around the flat, every whiff of his scent as he passes him, every burning touch of his fingers to Sherlock's aching skin. He doesn't even notice that he's been staring at John over his book for the last seven minutes until John very deliberately shuts his laptop before putting it away, holding his gaze as he gets up.

“See something you like?” he asks, stepping in front of him, and Sherlock swallows thickly. He knows that there are exactly two ways for this to go – he speaks the truth and they end up on top of each other within the minute, or he denies any attraction, leaves John confused and himself unsatisfied once more.

He swallows again. “No?”

It comes out as a question. John raises his eyebrows, stopping short. “No?” he repeats, and Sherlock shakes his head tentatively.

“It's, ah, not you. It's me. I'm- not today. Just. Not today.” He knows that he's rambling, that he isn't making sense, and John's expression clearly conveys how little he succeeds in trying to convince him that everything is fine.

“Are you okay?” he asks, much more serious now. Sherlock's eyes fix on the crease in his forehead.

“Yes,” he tries to assure him, abruptly getting out of his chair. John is standing so close that they are almost pressed together for a moment, and the air seems to buzz as their eyes lock. Sherlock has to physically drag himself away from John if he wants to keep this up any longer.

“I'm going to bed,” he announces, turning on the spot before John can say anything else. “Good night.” He escapes to the bathroom and locks the door behind him, sinking against the cool glass. He will not be able to continue this any longer, that much is clear. Luckily, if John's level of arousal is anything to go by, he won't have to.

He gives up all pretence the next day. He is on the sofa when John gets home from the shops, a bag of groceries in his hand. Their eyes lock as he enters the room, and he doesn't know whether John dropped the bag first or he got off the sofa, but the next moment they are wrapped around each other, snogging like their lives depend on it.

“God,” John growls, clutching his shirt. “ _God_ , I missed you. Take that off, I'm-”

Sherlock tears the shirt off before pulling John's jumper over his head, immediately fumbling for the button of his trousers. He disposes of his own while John takes them off, stepping closer to press flush against his body.

“God, you're so gorgeous,” John pants. “Fuck. It's been days.”

“Years,” Sherlock says, practically dragging him to the bedroom.

The resulting sex is more than worth the anticipation, leaving them both boneless and blissed out for ages, but Sherlock knows in his heart that he won't be able to keep this up. And he's not sure it would wise to do so either. After all, John might get the idea that _Sherlock_ is tired of their activities, or worse, that he is avoiding him.

In the end, he doesn't get to continue anything for much longer.

“What was that all about then?” John asks the next day when they are seated next to each other on the sofa.

“Hm?” Sherlock mumbles, distracted by his phone. “What was what about?”

“You, refusing to have sex before jumping me last night?”

Sherlock lowers his phone. “Ah.”

John gives him an expectant look, clearly waiting for an explanation. Sherlock opens his mouth, intending to make something up as he goes along – John will buy it if he makes it sound convincing enough – but his mind is curiously blank.

“...Yeah?” John asks after a while, nudging him with his hand. When Sherlock still hasn't found anything to say he continues, “I mean, first you spoil me rotten with that level of frequency, then you decide at a moment's notice that we're not having any sex for days... I mean, don't get me wrong, I would never want to make you do any of that if you weren't in the mood, or- I dunno, decided that it wasn't for you after all.”

Sherlock huffs at the absurdity, but John speaks right over him. “But it made me wonder. You've been so eager these past few weeks, I could hardly catch my breath, and I don't think I've ever seen you as excited as you were last night. And yet there were those couple of days where you just- Sherlock, I know you, and I know what you're like when you're in the mood. You clearly wanted to, but you held yourself back. Why?”

Sherlock purses his lips before deciding on the closest thing to the truth he can manage. “It was an attempt at spicing up our sex life, as they say. I suppose it worked, although I'm not sure it bears repeating.”

“Spicing up our sex life,” John repeats, naturally focusing on the thing Sherlock doesn't want to discuss. He blinks at him. “Why do you think it needs any spicing up whatsoever? The stuff we've been doing together, that's- loads more than I've ever done before. Not surprising, considering it's you I'm sleeping with, but you know. It's all good. Really good.”

And that right there is the problem, Sherlock thinks. Good is just not good enough.

“I'm merely trying to keep you from getting bored,” he says, and John chuckles, obviously not getting what he's trying to say.

“But you can't really believe that I'd get bored, do you? With all the things we do? Seriously?”

“But it's _because_ of the things we do that you haven't grown tired of it yet,” Sherlock retorts, frustration seeping into his words. John just doesn't _see,_ he doesn't understand his problem. He's not the one who has to worry about losing Sherlock's interest, because Sherlock could never grow tired of him.

He falls silent when he sees John's expression. John, who has clearly heard the change in his voice, sits up, his eyes trained on Sherlock's face. Sherlock swallows.

“What,” John begins, “do you mean by that? Are you trying to say that- do you think I would grow tired of having sex with you if we stopped doing our little experiments?”

Sherlock presses his lips together. “Eventually.”

He did not mean for it to come out like this, or at all for that matter, but it's futile now, he can see that. John would have found out one way or another anyway. Eventually. He is John, after all. He knows Sherlock better than anyone else. And he _is_ pretty damn smart.

He just has a very distinctive feeling that this conversation might end up getting uncomfortable.

“Hey,” John's voice gets through to him, and it's only when his hand settles on his wrist that Sherlock realises he's been tying his fingers into knots. “Can you look at me for a moment, Sherlock?”

His voice is serious, cautious, and Sherlock looks up, a flash of fear that John will come to the wrong conclusion surging through him. “It's not you,” he blurts out, feeling the need to make him understand. “It's... not you. This is purely about me.”

John's eyebrows draw together in an even bigger frown, and Sherlock swallows when he sees a trace of hurt in his expression.

“You...” John begins, then trails off. “You think _you're_ going to grow tired of our sex life?” he concludes, a deep crease in his forehead. Sherlock groans inwardly, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hand.

“ _No,_ ” he says, stressing the syllable. “Of course not. How could I ever- don't be ridiculous, John.”

John is silent for a beat. “I don't understand,” he then says, shifting so he is fully facing him. “Sorry. I don't get it. Can you please explain what's going on?”

“Nothing is going on. I was merely trying to-”

“Spice up our sex life, yeah. Got that part. The question is just, why? Did you think it needed that?”

“It might have,” Sherlock allows, trying to be truthful without giving himself away entirely. It's a thin line. “At one point. Once the honeymoon phase was over.”

“So you _were_ afraid you were going to get tired of it,” John says, clearly still not getting it, and this time Sherlock groans aloud.

“No, John, I was afraid that _you_ are going to get tired of it. Obviously.”

He can see now that it might not be as obvious as he thought, but he is trying to keep up an air of nonchalance here. Judging by John's face, he is clearly not succeeding.

John blinks at him, his mouth hanging open. “You... think I'm going to grow tired of you,” he repeats. Sherlock makes an indiscernible noise. “Yes?” John asks for clarification, and Sherlock gives a reluctant nod.

“Seriously?”

“Well. Not of _me_ , per se. It's- John. Our sex life. I thought- that.”

“That,” John echoes, and Sherlock groans. This is painful.

“Okay,” John says, holding up both of his hands. “I'm lost. Can you please, _please_ explain whatever led you to that belief?”

Sherlock grumbles something. John's eyebrows go up.

“Sherlock,” he says, and it's the tone of his that says that he's done messing around. Sherlock sighs and gives in.

“It's because of Karen,” he admits. John stares at him in silence for a second.

“Because of Karen?” he then asks, a look of complete incomprehension on his face, and Sherlock lets out a deep breath, bracing himself for the explanation.

“You had a spectacular sex life with her, yes? You said so. Spectacular, that was your word. You said you thought that nothing else could ever compare. I merely tried to show you that I could be... adequate too. That our sex life could be,” he corrects.

John stares at him in shock. “I said that?” he asks, clearly not remembering. “I really did? When was that? When you asked about the angry- oh my god. Sherlock. That's how long you've been carrying this around with you?”

“It wasn't then,” Sherlock reluctantly admits, worrying his bottom lip. “It was shortly after we got together. We were in bed, and you told me that after Karen you'd been sure that you'd never get sex that spectacular again.”

John's eyes narrow as he tries to think back. “I remember,” he says slowly, fixing him with a stare. “But didn't I also say that I'd clearly been wrong in that assumption?”

Sherlock is silent for a moment. “Yes,” he gives in. “But.”

“But?” John repeats, shaking his head. “But what? Did you think I was lying? You doubted what I said?”

There's no accusation in his voice, just that miserable hurt.

“I didn't doubt that you meant it _then_ ,” Sherlock tries to get him to understand, feeling more wretched about the entire conversation by the second. “But I'm not an idiot. I know that we were still very early on in our relationship at that point, we still are, and the so-called honeymoon phase inevitably has to end. You might enjoy the sex now, because it's all new and fresh and exciting, but who knows what that will look like in a year? In two? In ten? It's like lesbian bed death. I was hardly going to risk it.”

And now he has messed up by getting too obvious, by giving himself away because he's become too desperate.

Not one of his finest moments, that.

“No,” John says. Sherlock looks up.

“No?”

“No, you _are_ an idiot. A colossal, massive idiot. But I've been an even bigger one. Jesus. I can't believe I didn't notice what was going on with you. I should have seen it. I'm a terrible partner.”

“Don't be silly,” Sherlock cuts in sharply. “You've done nothing wrong.”

“I clearly have, if you doubted how much I enjoy myself with you. In and outside the bedroom, Sherlock. God, can't you see how happy I am? How much I love you, and love _being_ with you? How can you not see that? I feel like I'm bursting with it, and you still doubt it.”

John doesn't just look sad, he looks heartbroken. Sherlock scrambles closer to him.

“No. No, no,” he repeats, gripping his hand tightly. “John. _No_. I don't doubt that you love me. Of course I don't. And I don't doubt that you- enjoy being with me. I trust you, and I know you, and I know you're not lying to me because you would never lie to me. I trust you with my life, John. Please believe me when I say that it's not that.”

John searches his face, shaking his head slightly. His hand turns beneath Sherlock's though, returning the touch. At least that. “Okay,” he says slowly, licking his lips. “Okay, that's- what is it then? What is it you're doubting?”

His eyes are pleading, conveying _please help me understand this, I'm still not getting it_ , and Sherlock takes a deep breath before squeezing his eyes shut and allowing it all to come out.

“We've only been together a short time, John, and the kind of enthusiasm we displayed when the topic first came up was bound to be temporary before ebbing away, which is natural and common and nothing I would ever fault you for. But when you mentioned your ex-girlfriend and how spectacular your sex life with her had been it got me... thinking, about how you were together for three months and long past the honeymoon phase, and still having spectacular sex. I was worried that we would fall victim to the natural abatement of our desire as we settled into the relationship that I hoped would be long-term, which would naturally pale in comparison to your last one and so may lead you to having doubts. The obvious thing to do was spicing up our sex life to keep it from getting boring.”

He inhales deeply as he breaks off, watching John's face as he takes in his words.

“So,” he begins slowly, “to summarise, you were scared that what I feel for you now would fade over time. And I would get bored of you. Yes?”

“More or less,” Sherlock mumbles.

“You silly, silly man.” John shakes his head. He reaches for Sherlock as he slides closer, pulling him into a tight hug that pushes all the air out of Sherlock's lungs. It's not a bad feeling at all. His arms wrap around John as he holds on, only then realising how starved he was for his touch, how much he needed to feel his body on his like this.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, burying his face in the crook of John's neck. John's hair tickles him when he shakes his head.

“Don't,” he says, his voice gentle. “Don't, please just- don't apologise. Don't you ever apologise for how you're feeling. It should be me apologising to you, for not having seen. For letting you believe that this was only temporary.”

“It's not your fault,” Sherlock refuses, shaking his head as well. He draws back to get a look at John's face. “I didn't mean for you to see what was going on. Don't blame yourself. And it was nothing you'd done, really. It was just... me being silly.”

“I think we were both silly,” John says shaking his head once. A frown creases his forehead and he looks up, seeking Sherlock's eyes. “Sherlock, you didn't-”

Sherlock raises his eyebrows when he doesn't continue and John swallows before continuing. “You haven't done anything that you didn't- that you weren't enthusiastic about yourself, have you? Because you thought it would excite me?”

Sherlock can feel his face showing how appalled he is by the mere suggestion. “ _No,_ John, of course not. I don't doubt your enthusiasm about the sex we have, please don't doubt mine. That's the whole reason I started that list in the first place. Well, part of it. I love what we do together. Everything. I would never want it to get boring for either of us, or a chore. Doing something I wouldn't have enjoyed would have been pointless.”

John is quiet for a moment. “What's the other reason? Why you did it?” He meets his eyes, squeezing his hand as he continues, “I mean, if you weren't feeling insecure in this relationship, or let's say _about_ this relationship in at least some way, this whole thing wouldn't have come up, would it?”

Sherlock purses his lips. “I suppose not,” he admits after a moment.

“And there,” John says softly, his thumbs brushing Sherlock's skin, “lies my fault.”

“How is my being insecure your fault?” Sherlock demands to know, feeling affronted on John's behalf.

“It's my fault for not seeing it. For letting it get that far. For not showing you enough how much I _adore_ you.”

A look of determination crosses John's face, and he slides off the sofa, gently tugging on Sherlock's hand.

“What are you-”

“Come with me,” he asks, giving him a smile. “Let me make this right. Let me show you how much I love you.”

Sherlock opens his mouth to say that John has nothing to make up to him, that his insecurities are his own problem that he doesn't need to concern himself with, that they can just forget about the entire thing if only he stops worrying, but he looks as John, sees the love and affection, the need to express what he can't say in his eyes, and he lets himself be pulled up and led to the bedroom in silence.

“I love you so much,” John says when they've shut the bedroom door behind them, turning to face him as he steps closer. “I love you more than I've ever loved anyone or anything. This love may change, it may develop, it might calm down as we grow old together and the honeymoon phase wears off, but it will never cease. It will never fade.”

He stops only when he is standing directly before Sherlock, raising a hand to cup his cheek. His thumb brushes the sharp edge of Sherlock's cheekbone.

“You are the most goddamn gorgeous person I have ever seen in my life. You're like sunlight and the stars and moon and every beautiful flower, only better. You're like art. You might change over time. You already look different now from when we first met. You'll get wrinkles, and grey hair, and spots on your skin where it's no longer smooth, but you will never, ever stop being gorgeous to me. I will never stop finding you desirable. I will never stop wanting you.”

John's breath is warm on his face as he speaks, leaving Sherlock dizzy and drunk on wanting. He leans in the barest of fractions to close the distance between them, and John grants the touch immediately, stretching up to bring their lips together. The kiss is so gentle and yet so deep that Sherlock shivers, his arms sneaking around John's middle to hold him in place. John presses up against him, saying _you can always have this when you ask for it_ , saying _I'm not going anywhere, not now, not ever._

“I love you _so_ much, Sherlock,” John murmurs against his lips when the kiss ends, a repetition of his former words, and yet they set Sherlock ablaze like it's the first time he's ever heard them.

“I love you too,” he says, gazing into John's eyes, and the beam he gets in reply is blinding, it's gorgeous, it's all Sherlock ever wanted within one person, smiling up at him.

“I know,” John says, bringing up his other hand to Sherlock's face. “Do you understand how much I care for you? What you mean to me?”

“I think so,” Sherlock says, the words coming out hoarsely.

“Can I show you? To make sure?”

Not trusting his voice, Sherlock nods. John only kisses him in response. His hands brush down Sherlock's face, his neck, to the first of his buttons. They don't hesitate in undoing them one by one, sliding the shirt off his shoulders in a sure movement. He steps away briefly to take off his own shirt, then takes care of Sherlock's trousers and pants. He gently pushes him towards the bed, guiding him into a sitting position by the shoulders before sinking to his knees, pulling his socks off with a small chuckle. Sherlock smiles too. This is the unsexy part, the part that needs to get out of the way before they can go right into it, and it is a testament to their enthusiasm for each other that they can get it over with so effortlessly.

John kisses up his legs as soon as the socks are gone, leaving a trail as he moves to the inside of his thigh. He brushes his currently thickening cock, nuzzling the bit where his leg meets his pelvis.

“Wait,” Sherlock says, and John looks up, a questioning expression on his face. “Get undressed too,” he mumbles, and John smiles before he nods, getting up to take off his remaining clothes. Sherlock watches unashamedly, his cock rising to full height as his gaze roams over the length of John's body, settling on his beginning erection.

“Better?” John asks, catching his attention, and Sherlock can tell from the smirk on his face that he's well aware of his staring.

“Loads. Now come back,” he asks, and John sinks to his knees again.

“You're so gorgeous,” he murmurs, mouthing at Sherlock's cock as his fingers take hold of him. “Do you know that? I don't tell you enough, how bloody gorgeous you are. I think about you all the time. I dream about you.” He licks a warm stripe up his cock, making Sherlock gasp, and with a final satisfied smirk he opens his mouth, taking the head of Sherlock's cock in. He hums around him as a moan escapes Sherlock, encouraging the sound with a swirl of his tongue.

“I love your taste,” he says when he pulls off, leaving a trail of kisses down his cock to his balls. “I love how you feel when I take you into my mouth.” He nuzzles his pelvis, moving to suck a gentle bruise to the inside of his thigh. “I love your smell here. Love your skin.” He kisses the red spots his ministrations have left. Taking one of Sherlock's hands into his he looks up to meet his eyes, pressing kisses to each of his knuckles.

“Your hands,” he murmurs, his warm breath ghosting over Sherlock's palm, “are gorgeous. Such clever, lovely hands. They're like a work of art, too.”

Sherlock turns his hand, curling his fingers around John's face as he cradles him. “John,” he breathes out, and John moves up to lie on top of him, brushing his curls out of his forehead as he gazes into his eyes from up close.

“It makes me crazy, when you say my name like that,” he whispers, tracing Sherlock's bottom lip with his thumb. “It's such a common name, but the way you say it, Sherlock. Makes it so special. Makes it sound like a prayer.”

He leans in to kiss him, his lips warm and gentle. He opens his mouth to the touch and John deepens the kiss, tasting his lips and his tongue as he renders him breathless.

“There's nothing I love more than kissing you,” he says when he draws back. “Nothing in the world. You taste so good, like _you_ and like home. And the way you kiss me, with such abandon and care, makes my heart stutter every time. How many times have we kissed now, Sherlock? You probably even know the answer to that.” He laughs before Sherlock can reply. “Doesn't matter. It's a lot, a big number, and it still happens every single time.”

He kisses him again, caressing his lower lip before gently taking it between his. Then he presses a kiss to the corner of Sherlock's mouth, his jaw, leaving a light trail down his neck to his collarbone. He comes to rest on the scar on his chest, kissing the puckered flesh. Sherlock can feel his melancholy, can sense the regret and pain in the set of his shoulders, and he reaches for his arm to touch, to snap him out of it, but John only presses another lingering kiss to the scar before moving on to his nipple. Sherlock gasps when he flicks his tongue over the flesh, kissing and sucking until it's thoroughly wet. He repeats the same procedure on the other side before going lower on Sherlock's belly, kissing the hollow between his ribs that appears as he stretches, nuzzling his belly button.

“I love you,” he mumbles into the warm skin, “I love you so much, you're so bloody beautiful. I've never loved anyone like I love you.”

Sherlock's eyes shut when John takes him into his mouth again, going a bit lower this time, giving his cock so much attention that Sherlock feels like he might burst with it. His tongue seems to map out every inch of his erection, stimulating him with wet presses and just the right - the _perfect_ amount of suction. His fingers twist into the sheets as he throws his head back, entirely too affected for something they have already done dozens of times before, something so basic and easy and utterly _wonderful._

John's mouth on him is a tight and wet heat, working him expertly, driving him closer to the edge within minutes. It would be embarrassing, if Sherlock was still in any state of mind to care about that sort of thing. His heart, he notes, is pumping his adoration for the man pleasuring him right now through his body, setting his every cell ablaze with it. It's lust, and affection, and deep, earth-shattering, staggering love, and all of it is reflected in the touch of John's mouth, in the feeling of his lips sliding up and down the shaft of Sherlock's cock.

He doesn't take long.

“John,” he gasps out when he feels himself tumbling over the edge, urgently, trying to push him off, but John just hums as he goes lower, swallowing around him until Sherlock is shouting out. He pulls off just as his orgasm starts to crash over him, immediately bringing his hand to his spurting cock to stroke him through it. Sherlock nearly sobs as his body pulses with aftershocks, feeling too much and not enough all at once, completely filled with John and yet too far away from him.

“John,” he murmurs when he finds his voice again, pulling him up by the shoulders. “John-”

He trails off, not knowing where he was going with that sentence in the first place, only knowing that he needs John, needs him _now,_ on top of him, close to him, joining him in the bliss of post-coital satisfaction and feeling utterly and wholly loved.

John moans when Sherlock's fingers wrap around his erection, a sound so high it's almost a whimper, and Sherlock falls into a fast rhythm immediately. The tip is already wet when his thumb brushes over it, and the fact makes him heady, makes his chest expand in what he can only describe as triumph. He, his own pleasure, is the reason that John is already so close to his own climax.

They really do make for a great match in bed.

John supports himself on his elbow, thrusting into his fist along with Sherlock's strokes.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, becoming almost erratic after only a short while. “I'm gonna- Sherlock-”

“Yes,” Sherlock hisses, gazing into his eyes as he works him to his climax. His hand is aching from the strain, his arm growing tired, but his focus lies entirely on John, the way his eyes crinkle as he squeezes them shut, how his face contorts in pleasure.

Every cell of his body is sated, John is panting above him, and Sherlock realises with a sense of wonder that this, this right here, is perfect. It's not fancy, and it's nothing they haven't done before - in fact it's the first thing they ever did together - and it works wonderfully.

It is simple, so simple. Basic, and calm, and so heavy with intimacy and meaning that Sherlock finds it hard to breathe. He feels John everywhere, around him, on him, inside him like he has crawled into his bones and made a home there, and he shudders as John's breathing grows ragged on top of him.

“Come on,” he murmurs, moving his hand faster up and down John's shaft, “I've got you, John, come on,” and that's all it takes for John to go rigid with the force of his climax. He spurts between them almost in sync with the heavy breaths leaving his mouth, and Sherlock strokes him through it, his eyes fixed on his face, his lips parted as he tries to absorb every movement of his expression as he is overcome by pleasure. Pleasure Sherlock has just given him. Like he does every time, like he _has_ done so many times by now, like he will continue doing for years and years.

John is panting above him and Sherlock loosens his grip, instead leaning up to wrap his arms around his neck. He lifts his head to kiss him, meeting his ready lips. He tastes John like he has the first time they kissed, actively, trying to catalogue it so he will always remember it. And John returns the kiss like he's trying to do the same, though a little more slowly, still caught up in the haze of his climax.

Their lips part. John blinks his eyes open to look at him, and Sherlock only holds his gaze for a moment before they both lean in to resume kissing. It's gentler now, more a slow slide of lips, warm and familiar, than anything else. It is wonderful, fantastic, amazing, all the words Sherlock keeps forgetting as his mind narrows down to John's mouth on his, making him feel cherished and worshipped and, undeniably, loved.

They stay close even as they part. John hovers over him, his weight supported by his elbows, his eyes trained on Sherlock's face. He is so close that Sherlock can feel his breath, and they just look at each other for a long moment.

“Okay?” John asks eventually, and it's about a lot more than the sex they just had.

Sherlock nods. “Brilliant. Come here,” he requests, opening his arms, and John complies right away.

He settles in on Sherlock's chest, half draped over his body, his head turned to the side as he listens to the sound of his heartbeat. Neither of them cares about the stickiness between them. The idea of parting, even for something as short and necessary as getting cleaned up, is unimaginable. Out of the question.

Lost in thought, Sherlock runs his hand over the small of John's back. They lie in silence like that for a while. Eventually John moves a little, burying his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck to inhale his scent, smelling what must be a combination of Sherlock and sweat and sex. Sherlock hums in contentment.

“I love you so much.”

“I know. Like I love you. I've never doubted that, and I never will.”

“Good.” John is silent for a beat. “Just one more question,” he murmurs into his neck after a while.

“Hm?”

“What the bloody hell is lesbian bed death?”

Sherlock laughs, brushing his hands over John's bare skin as he holds him closer. “A very strange concept,” he says, nudging him with his nose until he looks up. “Nothing we need to concern ourselves with.”

John stretches up to place a soft kiss on his lips. “We're good then?” he asks, his eyes infinitely tender, his warm weight comforting and familiar on Sherlock's body. He nods decidedly.

“We're more than good. We're perfect.”

John hums. “And we're going to continue to be. Even if we have less sex. Even if we take it slower at one point.”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods. “Not now, though.”

“Nope,” John agrees, his eyes twinkling as he leans in again. “Not for a long time yet.”

And he brings their lips together in another kiss to seal his words.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before season 4 (season 4? What season 4?). English isn't my native language, feel free to point out any mistakes! Got anything at all to say? Comments and/or concrit make me very happy!


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